Blank Slate

Gazing at a tome devoid.
No words, no sentences.
Nothing but paper stained yellow
and speckled with bits of ash.
A tabula rasa for would-be poets,
scribes without names or meaning,
rambling on for pages about
the images formed from clouds in the sky
filled from the crown to the toe top
of teenage angst and phony ideals of love.
This brave new world begging to begin
“Once upon a time...”
will never find “The end”
so long as the new-age Homers
refuse to sail the savage seas of imagination
with ink-stained hands
to the promised lands of tomorrow.