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This may not be considered poetry, but it speaks to me as if it is. The blank page, the chance of great beginning. The emptiness that has the power to send words like bullets to your ear drums leaving such an impact that one can’t ignore!! But all the same the emptiness that we all see that our brain can’t muster up the feelings that are inside that we want to put words onto paper… so we sunder into the void of oblivion because the white canvas of which we were to once put all of what we have into is to pure in its white cascade of which our ink would only taint. Thus, leaving “The Poet’s White Canvas” as it is, admiring what simplistic power it holds as well as its potential of what it can be.