I hope it’s still far away
That day
When I will stare blankly at a page
Empty, waiting
And I,
not being able to write anything
For that would be the day I died
When I can or no longer
want to write
When the blank page remains white
Looking back at me
achingly, knowing it's that day
... of empty
© 2009 Sonya Florentino
o sony dont say that may you write a million years with vereve an zest...an on the lighter side used a clored apper wont stare back white ; -) cheers
I think that everyone who truly loves to write would have to empathize with these words (and let's hope it never comes to such a realization) . It would seem very much like a death; like the end of communication and purpose.
a good farmer has to leave the land fallow for some time to regain and sustain its fertility... it's like a sunday of a week.
Without creative expression, life would be bleak indeed. You have expressed every poet's nightmare with a cartoonist's eye in this neatly penned piece. Your title is great too. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
I have had my days of empty. But words have always found me again. I love your originality.10/10. Warm regards, Sandra
When you cannot write, is that when the soul dies or life has lost its meaning?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Everything runs in cycles. Can't all be uphill.