The blank page
smiles, beguiling
crinkling up lines around her
beseeching eyes, behind the grin
you see her boredom for
such utter emptiness upon her.
She calls sweet nothings to
the pencil
as he stands at attention
waiting for his commands
before he crosses the field
leaving a trail of bent stalks in his
wake.
An eraser follows leaving bits
of its skins as it slithers across the trail
undoing the marks on the land.
When work is done
soldier, snake, lovely lass lie in
the grass as the moon rises above them
and the words fly up to the night sky.
Written in September of 2007. It was an imagining of what writing could be like close up and imbued with a sort of magic. The page is the lady, the soldier the pencil, the snake the eraser. I realized afterwards that there could be some biblical connotations with the man, woman, and snake but writing this at age 14 it wasn't on purpose. I do think the poem, as any poem, can mean so many things to so many people. I'd love to hear what you perceive when you read this. Thanks.
