The empty page beautiful, blank like fallen snow waiting for a life to touch it.

(Sigh) The blankness mocks me. 

I long so to stain the page beyond the compass blades summit with ideas that encompass more than lands distance. 

Oh, to etch the slate with important gravity that excavates through touching everything above and below and without effort imposing itself on every thread that spins the tapestry of time.

This I desire, for it is great ideas, epiphanies that resonate in men’s hearts, like thunderous symphonies, making needles of threads, while lifting the plaster to reveal what we are made of.

Oh, but for my longing what express - what? 

To give reason purpose and longing a length, to give want desire and hope incentive.  

To give darkness weight and lightness altitude. 

To make water thirst and the air to breath. 

Oh what express – what?