Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches

Blank

Colorless,
my brain seems to tattoo images and symbols,
expressions of beliefs.
Yet somehow, I cannot stain you,
but stare and dream of original expressions
they would witness, that would move them.

But how to move others, when I cannot move?
Your purity like snow draws my eye,
my ache fingers idle.
You could be my canvas
that does not invite the chalk etchings of my mind.
I am better than clichés
and yet not creative enough.
Before I can write, I must walk.
And when I walk I must go outdoors.
But instead I look out this window and imagine,
dream of myself in another world dawning.

That is where this page needs to begin.
Maybe, this life was wasted?
I look into my heart and see if I can write this.
I pick up my instrument, purge.


Made public 2.21.22 without edit, still rough, lacking detail