New Journal

The first poem I wrote in a little journal I got as a gift.

O blank pages, blinding white
indifferent to words
impervious to rhyme
hold what’s marked inside you
keep the secret tight
make good on your promise
no judgements
no lies
reflect on your pale countenance a memory of mood
let the eye discern and the reader decide
be moved by graphite and worn by rubber
soak in spilled ink

O blank pages, blinding white
inspire me to write