Blank Canvas

 

I thought I had a place to begin,

a precipice

that I might leap from

to begin my story.

Instead, I’m stuck here on the ground,

looking up,

and the land around me is flat

for hundreds of miles.

 

Featureless,

and bereft of vaults.

No valley, hill, or cave to explore.

Just me and the sky,

and the horizon line;

a wasteland of possibility.

 

If I could fly,

I might see differently.

If I could leave,

I’d look back only once,

to see this stark nothingness

recede into the darkness

of my past;

and I’d be happy.

 

Here I am,

and no amount of wishing

is gonna grow me wings,

or save my soul.

I look around

and realize

what this dearth of luck betrays,

the truth of this place.

I should have seen it all along.

 

This stark plain,

rolling out,

unscarred,

under a pure, blue sky

is no purgatory,

and certainly no prison.

 

It may not be my high aerie,

from which I might spread my wings

and soar amongst the eagles

in the sky.

No,

it is a blank canvas,

and if I have an artist’s eye,

it is a launch pad

for me to realize

every dream I’ve ever had,

and not just a place to die.

 

I thought I knew

what I needed to live,

it turns out I didn’t really know.

I was alive.

So much wasted time.

Time to get to work,

the dream won’t have itself.

Before it’s over,

it’s time to make it right.

 

 

HG – 2020

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