When armed with an arsenal
Of ideas bigger than bombs
And words that are piercing as arrows
Quivering
With swelling anticipation
Like the tide, it crests
When faced with a blank white page
You wait for the explosion
The crash of the ocean wave
It destroys the castles you have built
But you call it
Creation.
Emily– this poem is fantastic. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve attempted to encapsulate the spine-tingling feeling of a blank page and how often I have failed. The second stanza is really fucking great, I can’t say enough about it. One thing though– capitalizing every line, at least for me, softens the crash of each ocean wave in its conformity. It only distracts me from the beauty of your words. As does the lack of punctuation. But like I said– lovely stuff.