I stare at the blank page before me.
To think that my page is nothing,
But everything all the while.
My fingers caress it's smooth surface,
My mind fills the white with a rainbow.
A tear ruins such void of an imaginary painting.
Colors surreal,
Such a desired work of art,
That no angel can ever dream to paint or draw.
Jewels can't redeem it's worth,
And it's beauty surpasses that of a firework.
My page is nothing,
But everything all the while...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem