White ink spills onto white paper.
Not the biggest of travesties
However you still know that it
Happened and you can't help but mourn
The loss of a prized possession
Even though it was completely
Useless to begin with.  But it
Doesn't matter because it was
Yours and it's been taken from you,
By your own doing, nonetheless,
But now you begin wondering
Why you used to cherish something
Of so little value to you.
Each time you tried to dip your pen
Into the ink you were forced to
Recognize that it would not help
In creating masterpieces.
Just like putting perfume on a
Flower or using a flashlight
Underneath the sun's rays, why would
You use something so trivial
In the shadow of another's
Majesty?  There's no use crying
Over it now.  Like spilled milk, it's
Gone.  Now just breathe and let it go.