empty.

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|

|…

I sit to write what is to be my first novel,
and the cursor blinks at me.

I stare at the white screen as it glares back,
daring me to perform,
daring me to begin,
One strike against a key
one letter
one word..
a sentence perhaps,..
… a paragraph
or two…

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|

|…

moments later
the cursor persists

determined
from deep within the white canvas screen..
Taunting me

Which of us is truly empty, it  implies..
You or I?

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Longing..

hema

I want to do away
with worry and fear…
inhaling deeply
letting the sharp salt air
permeate through my lungs

I want to look out
where the sky meets the waves
at the water’s edge
in a brazen, passionate kiss~
a wanton embrace
at its farthest horizon

I want to look up
and be blinded by the brazen sun,
forcing me to close my eyes
and bathe in its warmth
listening to its solitudinous soliloquy

I want to read  to my hearts content.
I want to write ~
write
until my mind becomes a blank canvas..
pouring,
emptying
releasing everything,
bleeding gold and silver
onto pristine parchment,
.. and having the golden sun bathe it
in crimson
as it sets.

I want to paint with the Master Artist along the azure sky,
our brush strokes illuminating the hues
of sunset and twilight,
and moonlight;
the reds, oranges, pale pinks and yellows and lilacs;
our hands resting into the deepest blacks in the depth of night
the stars, sparkling like diamonds

I want to be in flight
and chase the sunset
and the sunrise,
and mark the time
by the passing of the two twilights.

I want Love.
I want You.