The piece of paper lies on the table, waiting.
I reach for it with ink and graphite
The paper in my hands
My life, the paper.
It just lies there in front of me – blank, empty, untouched.
But, for it to remain orderly, it must stay untouched.
So, that which makes it orderly also renders it useless.
I sit there, waiting.
It’s waiting. For me to make my move.
Circling each other like predators
A game of cards. A chess match.
Dare I disturb it? Wake it from its slumber?
An untamed, mysterious, beautiful beast.
Dare I let it lie in captivity
only to have its powers spent, its potential wasting away?
The only way to unleash it, is through chaos
Order must be sacrificed.
I must reach for the ink and the graphite
to pierce the veil.
The tip touches the surface – scratching, marking
It feels my pen.
It must be done.
And from my chaos may spring forth