My pen is primed and ready.
I watch endlessly, searchingly
the people, the events
passing by
Faces, quick frozen snapshots
Idle comments, left hanging
Nothing seems, nothing feels new
No whimsical rhymes, no flashes of wisdom
Reaching out to me...
nor I to them...
I retire my pen. Unused.
The empty white blank page
Shouts with shaming silence.
Four corners framing
Untouched, unclaimed territory.
© Louisa DeBoo 1999