After much delay, here is a Sonnet I wrote that was kind of inspired by my last post on falling in love with a writer. This poem describes the writer’s (or an artist’s) imagination and the struggles it comes with – or rather, the price they pay for such a gift. It’s a simple little english sonnet I whipped up for class the other week. Fourteen line, ABAB..GG format.

Hope you enjoy! I will try to post more often. Until then–

Blank Page

Thereโ€™s something โ€˜bout an empty space that sparks

Fire in us, like one with noise cannot.

Like the calm before the storm, a wild heart

Is chaos, adventure, of battles fought.

It kills people by the hundreds, and then some;

It saves thousands from pain and despair.

All while the artist is stuck in a drum —

Like a box in a museum, they stare.

Be us animals? We donโ€™t mean you harm!

The creator of distress suffers more,

Famished, exhausted, alone, and disarmed –

As the storm rages on beyond their door.

All that suffering, trapped in a cage,

Caused by an artist who saw a blank page.

Thanks for reading!