2015 -- 7.2 (Spring) Poetry

Musings on Wordlessness

By Richard Fairbanks

What am I writing?
I don’t rightly know,
With no words to write,
No things to show.

If college-ruled paper,
Could write on itself,
A hundred grand stories,
Would litter my shelf.

But alas! words escape,
They dwindle and die,
Not so very frequent,
As stars in the sky.

If pen touches page,
And ink doesn’t flow,
The words have no story,
No colors to show.

So what do I write?
Well nothing at all,
A poem I write,
I know not what to call.