Empty lines, blank pages, each weighted like unprocessed steel.
I try with feelings and emotions to express in spirit and will.
As I, with a first word begin, a first line, becomes a first page,
with a life of it's own.
Words manifest into sentences, lines into pages that turn with a moan.
Page after page flip to reveal a story untold.
A story that captivates, a middle that intrigues,
and an end to cultivates the soul.
Lines empty no more, pages no longer blank.
It's weight is now as finished processed steel.
Written is a story of words, lines becoming sentences,
with pages expressed in spirit and will.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is really good its something every writer can relate to