Something about a blank piece of paper

With the thought of relinquishing my every desire, passion, or loss

Brings a fulfillment only the tip of my pen can endure.

As ink or graphite waits to be moved, my world moves faster 

Thus my world can only slow its pace when writing takes place.

When love feels like fading numbers on a clock

When modernity turns our gadgets into mere rocks

When books or Art enliven the inner scribe

When Alienation is the only way out of a pernicious tribe

When options are slim and one must look within

When Ink and Graphite wait, and you are in such a state

Consider the occasion at hand is to create.