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THE NEXT TWO KEYSTROKES
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scribble scratch
furious
and fast
the pencil flies
the words fall down
and the paper is finally happy
i wondered how the paper felt
sitting there,
blank,
unused...
did it feel purposeless, unwanted?
or did it even care?
so i tried to become the paper myself
just for a while
and i was sure,
after that,
of nothing.
these days the paper sits
pristine white
in the tray of a printer
and the blank pages on my screen
remind me of a world that changed
still, i know
the paper will be happy
because when the poem has come
the next two keystrokes will be
Control
and
P. |
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