My imagination always running
Yet can never be put on paper
Where have my ideas gone?
Where has my inspiration disappeared?
It feels like my mind is just a static
Quiet, awkward, eerie
I can grab a pen
Yet I can never write down the words that I want
I am not an artist
Nor am I a person to even write down this poem
What does one look for in a work of art anyway?

Am I just putting myself down?
Or am I just really not meant to be a writer?
My blank mind
My blank papers
Scattered
All over
My bedroom
My trash is, piling up with drafts
Scribble, scribble
Then throw
What a waste, what am I doing?
Should I still use this talent of mine?
Or do I just think that it's a talent?

I feel like 'The Thinker'
Always indecisive
Always hesitant
Always...thinking
Never...doing
I look at the people around me
And see that they are better than me
My world slowly turning black and white
Like the color of the music sheet and piano keys
Yet, why do I always bring myself down?
I will never know the answer of my very own question

I'm still here
Thinking, thinking, thinking
I want an idea to hit me like a storm
Yet my brain doesn't seem to work
A static it truly is, my brain
In my bedroom you will see
My blank mind yet full of imagination
Scattered along with blank papers

761

From Blank to Blank—
A Threadless Way
I pushed Mechanic feet—
To stop—or perish—or advance—
Alike indifferent—

If end I gained
It ends beyond
Indefinite disclosed—
I shut my eyes—and groped as well
’Twas lighter—to be Blind—

A blank canvas, inspires a painter
A blank paper, inspires a poet
From a blank we can draw inspiration
They are not blank, but an empty space
Untouched with the creative juices
To be filled with different moods of hues
And written on, with the most fertile thought
From a blank, we can draw a conclusion
Inspired to come up with most enchanted sketches
As artistry is the masterstroke, drawn on a blank
An abstract idea sketched, to inspire*





© Amitav (Radiance)

A blank sheet, full of potential,
so much beauty lies within.

A blank mind, calming the soul,
Though it doesn't feel right.

A blank day, full of nothing,
At least it feels like nothing.

A blank life, full of despair,
It all just seems blank.

Nothing.
Nothing is there.
Just a blank face
In a blank world.

Dear Blank,
I left your name blank because I don't know who you are,
or where you are.
Are you near, or are you far?

Dear Blank,
Sometimes I wonder if I truly need you,
Or if I'm better off on my own.
But I am scared: will you lift me up or hold me down?

Dear Blank,
Will I ever find you? Are you really there?
Or are you just a memory, and idea, a question--
A question, with no answer, or confession.

Dear Blank,
If I search, will I find you?
I would call out for you, but I don't know your name,
And all I see surrounding me is more of the same.

Dear Blank,*
Are you really there?

6 happy songs

1. Oui hear
What we appear
What, we appear?
What
Where

Capturing the in
The expressable in it
Capped in it
In
Into

Together to gather
To Get Her - To Gat Her
Two Gets-together
Gether
Glather

Troubling isn't it
Very troubling
Trouble some
Some troubles in ning
Inklings
Inner rings

Der Rinks
Der

2. Vert
Over therr
Overt therr
Knew a woman who was livin
Oh Vert Herr!

Oh Vert Herr!
Over therr
Err a woman who is livin
Oh Vert therr!
Err
Err

3. Bleu
A cloud farmer
I eye the sky
Eye the sky
Eye the sky
A cloud farmer
I eye the skye
Eye the sky
Wide

4. Blanc
Here is the blank
The blanking blank
The blanking blank
The blanking blank
Here is the blank
The blanking blank
The blanking blanking blank
Blank


5. Rouge
They come to me in ones and twos
Ones and twos
Ones and twos
They come to me in
Ones and twos
Ones and twos it's
True


6. Noir
Brush away noir noir
Brush away noir
Brush away noir noir
Noir noir no
More No more
Noir noir no
Moe

Pale blank faces all scattered around
Pale blank faces can make the ugliest sound

Your pale blank face wasn't pale at all
See, your pale blank face made me fall

Your eyes showed the judgement of a 4 year old kid
Honest but sweet
Your smile was big so charismatic,
I could run off this world and you'd be one to believe this was real tragic

Your eyes and that smile are all that keep me here,
Because honest but sweet isn't much of a fear

And that big charismatic smile is all I can see
My eyes closed in the dark but smiling for I'm lucky to breath

there would be blank canvasses
empty words
silently echoing the pages of poems not written
of narrative never revealed
from muses overwhelming
spirits overflowing
onto sugar coated melodies
woven into lyrics that
pester and harass and permeate the sacred space of minds

there would be blank canvasses
empty words
of delicate curves or hips, wide like sandy beaches
immortalized  by brush strokes or camera shutters
empty panels of superhero legends forgotten

there would be blank canvasses, empty words
of no church praises hollered over holy rollin piano riffs

but most definitely, most importantly,
there would be blank canvasses, empty words
and
hands that never itched
to craft golden scrolls onto the haggard loose leaves
residing in sharpie stained notebooks
and great wisdoms never told which ****** great minds
moves great minds
with melodious lyricism
which haunts souls
taunts souls
with the burning questions of shoes and ships and ceiling wax

there would be pens never emptied dry
cultivating piles of paper ***** with half *** rhymes, rhythms, and washed up metaphors
muses would never possess individuals
sleeplessly seeking to fill up forests worth of leaves
after suffering from the doldrums of writers block

blank canvasses, empty words
in a world without art

(Words were given to me by classmates:
A  Vivid
B  Incredible
C  Rapid
D  Blank
E  Indubitably
F  Over)

The sight so vivid,
the feeling is incredible.
Thumping, thrashing, moshing; rapid.
All adrenaline, minds are blank.
All will have stories to tell, indubitably.
Time stops; never ending, never over.

Guitarist flicks his pick over
our heads; strobe lights so vivid.
People injure for that pick, indubitably.
Though to catch it would be incredible.
Chaos for a piece of plastic that's blank.
The crowd's desperation; movements are rapid.

Heavy metal; headbanging rapid.
Vortex as they swing their heads over.
Some are dizzy; expressions blank.
Light reflects of swishing hair; movements are vivid.
How the band maintains the rhythm is incredible.
Long night for everyone, indubitably.

The chaos will never end, indubitably.
People still moshing, everything is rapid.
Being in the center; scary and incredible.
I hope this will never be over.
Lights flashing, making everything vivid.
Flashing and thrashing; nothing is blank.

Begin a new song, backdrop is blank.
Something awesome, indubitably.
New song starts, loud and vivid.
Musicians play more rapid.
No one wants it to be over.
Lyrics speak, it's incredible.

This night is incredible!
No thoughts form, my mind is blank.
But dreadfully, it is over.
Traffic out is awful, indubitably.
My heart is still beating so rapid.
The memories are oh, so vivid.

I wish it wasn't over, the lights were so vivid!
My energy is blank, but my mind is still rapid.
The show was incredible; I'll go again, indubitably.

Blank is the only thought known in the mind's velocity
Blank is the motive for the one to unleash atrocity
Blank becomes the heart as it encases no pain nor joy
Blank merely senses no rudiment in good or evil's ploy
Blank removes the face far from emotion's function
Blank contributes part in the psychotic conjunction
Blank of colour has it not, neither has it not everything
Blank is the incubator of pure evil for its purpose is nothing


Dark has claimed lordship over the temple of God
Dark shall only not grant the self but others the trod
Dark is the illness for which not shall it cease
Dark is the standing bear to the prey upon release
Dark gives the sun's casket at the funeral the seal
Dark senses no illusion in pursuit of what is real
Dark is the siren's song of tempting desire
Dark is the fuel of persuasion to the raging hellfire


Monster has the person become from a transformation much gruesome
In comparison to the lycanthrope's curse from a life so glum
Silence does the killer perform the wait for this moonrise
Wolf does not in he result but psychosis shall evoke demise
Hell is the starting gate for the devil to begin his race on earth
Slaughtered shall be anyone until achieved is the end's worth
Light will not the butcher dwell in for his blade of razor to land
Lightless will the assassin delay in for the lust of death by hand  


Cannot you outrun the follower, ceaselessly he follows
Subject you are to this doctor's experiment of gallows
Shadow does for you he wait in for the death strike
Watcher will he portray such a role in his image alike
Closet shall you beware for the demon's haunt it has become
Drains are elsewhere he shall stay for they are fear to some
The primary sense is vision for it has the ability to identify
Application of the sense does it most suit the villain to mortify
The possessed blade is as sharp as the pain to cause the victim's cries
For such an action does pleasure be ensured for the blackest eyes