Chalkboard

A blank page
lines but no words
I scribble
just to
riddle the page
unclean
but still no meaning
no Madge to show me
the way
to clarity
I bleed frustration
by balling up the sheaf
of paper
an invitation to failure
A new page sits in front
of me
Only clean now
I press on
but I think
no genuine thoughts
no light shines through dense clouds
no sunshine
brightens my meaningless
day
with insight

So instead I draw a picture
I’m not
an artist
but in this picture
I see
beyond the farce

Again, after a moment
I concentrate on
another
blank sheet
somehow becoming entangled with words
obscene!
naked and alive they primp and preen
sentence after sentence
I write down my dream
and it makes sense
these footprints into my past
that I leave for others
at least they make sense
to me
and no other, maybe?
But that doesn’t matter
not at all