The Empty Page

When did it begin,

the love affair,

between me and the pen?

It was when I saw the page:

so empty, so bland.

I saw the page and I knew,

I was empty too.

Could I fill one with the other?

Could ink on the page

be the filling my soul so craved?

Indeed.

Now, the paper had ink;

It had a meaning,

a poem, a word.

And me?

I had a purpose.

I was fulfilled

when a blank page

was suddenly filled.