witty-remark's Diaryland Diary

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Poem

~Bland~

A blank piece of paper with a paintbrush nearby,
Linger and wait for the time to pass by,
Craving a soul to color their world,
With magnificent strokes the paper turned gold.
But nothing stirs, not a single sound.
The paper and paint brush fall to the ground.
Knocked to the floor by a steady breeze,
Their purpose forgotten with vindictive ease.
Thrown in the trash with numerous tears,
Still blank as ever because nobody cares.
A dirty foortprint stamped on one side,
But still the paper does not mind.
Cracked and in splinters, the paintbrush lays still
Continually wishing without an ounce of lost will
That someone will find them and bring them to life
Color their world and finish their strife.

I am your paper.
I hand you a brush.
Color my existence
so that I wont rush
To conclude that I'm shallow,
insignificant, and bland
Clutch the brush that I place in your hand.
And keep in my mind,
What a splendid find,
You have lurched upon to see
For now you know how powerful a blank piece of paper and a paintbrush can truly be.

3:54 p.m. - Friday, Jun. 17, 2005

Then - Now