Before the Page
My dreams are leaking from my pen,
They’re coming out in spots and blots,
And taking shape in blackest ink
Upon the canvas of my thoughts.
The half-blown fancies I conceive,
Which have a mind all of their own,
Are seeping, creeping, leaping out.
It’s almost like they’re flesh and bone.
I can’t control my wayward thoughts
Except by writing down the mess
Of phrases, letters, quotes, and lines.
It all makes sense, well, more or less.
Throughout my head the words they lurk.
I linger now before the page.
The letters must start bleeding out.
They cannot long remain backstage.
I’m ready now with pen in hand,
The paper vacant, barren, stark.
And suddenly the writing comes,
It streams, spouts, spills; it makes its mark.
Words fill the world on loose leaf lines.
Substantial now, ideas can build.
My thoughts are free, released at last,
There’s nothing more left unfulfilled.
The restlessness I once endured
Has given way to let dreams thrive.
It’s faded, the suspense I felt,
Before the page had come alive.
Emma Karn '21
Third place in the Edith Garlow Memorial Poetry Contest