BLANK PAGE 🖋️ 📄

By Jeff Oliver

The paper in front of me has ink that drips,

but nothing comes to mind.

Nothing seems to fit or rhyme, and time is running thin.

My emotions are overwhelming me, and it’s challenging to relax.

Everything is coming at me all at once.

Nightmares and dreams,

smiles and things, tears drip right next to the ink.

It’s hard to think of anything when life feels like a dream,

with screams, madness, blocking my pen from facing my fears.

 

In my silence, empty thoughts stir so crazily,

with nightmares running oh so violently.

There are patches where my hair used to be,

always reminding me of something more than I can see.

Broken dreams, broken homes, broken things,

broken needs – they all consume me.

 

I can’t help but think about the cost of it all.

Each thought only creates emptiness in my mind.

I have many dreams where my family is gone,

but then they appear with me, singing songs.

In another dream, my father is there,

but when I awake, I cannot find him.

I dreamed that my mother believed in me.

When I awoke, it was always the same thing.

I was ridiculed, stomped down to the ground.

I am the black sheep, the clown.

I can’t make sense of all of these frantic, running emotions.

Chasing ghosts, I sometimes leave the page blank.

I wonder who would read it, or care about what I’ve written.

I create from my emotions – it has always been my approach.

I  suppose it’s okay to leave the page plain

and rest my weary hands.

Inspiration always comes back,

no matter where I go.

It is full of never-ending roads.

There are some roads that lead to sorrow,

while others lead to where I am meant to be.

But all roads always lead me back to that blank page,

where I write for the world to see.