Blank space
my white paper
inkblots, like my thoughts.
Dotted lines-
a poem appears.
The paper, once a tree
held life and grew.
It was chopped down
and made into pulp.
The pulp dried
and I write down
thoughts hidden from view.
—Mary Bone
November 28, 2018 by treewhispers
Blank space
my white paper
inkblots, like my thoughts.
Dotted lines-
a poem appears.
The paper, once a tree
held life and grew.
It was chopped down
and made into pulp.
The pulp dried
and I write down
thoughts hidden from view.
—Mary Bone
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