By Karla Doell
On the blank page patters lines, curves, dots, circles
The utensil: raise then return, push and glide
Together they form patterns, and collections
Add some pauses, because the void
Can, in itself, be something expressive
Mark and rest, thick and slight
Scarce a trace of hesitation
The blank page begins to communicate
Longer, longer, racing forward
Stop. Continue, Stop.
Section by section—
Something symbolic descends into the page
Tracing the architecture of a dream
It aspires in the light
And contemplates in the dark
The blank page receives meaning
It breathes softly
Its heart beats in a hushed dance
It stirs the senses from a deep slumber
It etches in the mind
It tickles the heart
A prism unfurled beyond the visual spectrum
A melody ablaze in the bones
The blank page transforms emotion
One stands in awe at the stark contrast
Framed in a rectangle
Bound by leather
It whispers to the soul
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