White Untouchable Canvas

White, Untouchable Canvas

I’ve seen a blank canvas many a time

One that withholds no words, no art

No promise for intriguement.

Could it be that the promise is of itself?

That the great white expanse of it is invitation?

So tempting and alluring, it boasts its freedom

The fact that I cannot touch it,

Mark it with the unseen tool of mine.

If so, then why can I see

Why can I imagine from whence it came?

Perhaps it was made by a man’s hands.

Or was it brought into existence by some other hand?

One that is neither human nor real to this world?

Say some tell-tale creature that grew

Grew from the fertile soil of my mind?

Or from that of another’s, that I’ve stolen and made my own?

There we see the beginning of so much to come,

The promise for a ride, of which I’ll never let go.

This ride, though it be false to the material man

Shall be imprinted on the vessel’s mind.

It carries me to the highest of mountains

With the sunshine creeping o’er them,

They reach the sky with craggy fingers that bleed of ancient age.

It shatters beneath my feet, dropping me far below

Into the very darkest of the abyss filled with inklings black.

Shaking me wholly afraid, I rip myself away

Away from that would harm my mind and me

Only to open my eyes to a feathered pillow.

It seems that the vast white land is mine,

In both my hand and mind,

I hold that great expanse of lines.

That unseen tool of mine in hand and mind,

I draw across the white abyss, giving it marrow and life,

Only to find in moments time,

I’ve gone past that dreaded nine.

Dreaded it seemeth be

I’ll draw near to thee

And give my mind in hand,

If only you promise me

To give me time again.

This came about from a mind blank after editing and writing; it seems I write well {at least I hope} when utterly exhausted and losing track of time.