Blank Page Syndrome

The pages are empty, and yet they still taunt me with invisible words

laden with praises and laced with indelible curses.

Enamoured with mystery, blank sheets are filled in for clues

to satisfy budding curiousity in courting an overly friendly muse.

Muted whispers struggle for sense amid chaos,

among portraits obscured by synesthesia lusting after freedom.

Who will be nourished with blood, sweat and tears?

Whose misery will give their master’s existence significance?

Taunts become howls that cannot be ignored.

Calls from that gnawing desire for life nursed on sacrifice.

Eager unborn rally beneath the eclipse

scratched into the sky from the other side

where their creator awaits, keen to slip through.

Dreams manifest in that nothingness

riddled with hazards that will not allow the story to unravel.