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…




moments later
the cursor persists

from deep within the white canvas screen..
Taunting me

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



I haven’t written a poem in so long…

it seems words are useless now…

but something is still missing…

… the void gets wider, deeper.. darker

in between the silent dots of the ellipsis…

and I wonder~

will the silence speak for me…