Ode to Empty Pages

Whenever I sit down to write anything, I feel kind of bad about it.
Because
Have you ever seen anything as beautiful as a white piece of paper?

Compare it to fresh cream,
Or a cloud on summers day, when the world is hot and still and quiet
                with the exception of the cicadas
Or maybe even to a an egg-
A perfect, unbroken egg
With the promise of life in the center.
Compare a blank sheet of paper to all these things-
               And they all seem like wax figurines
                       Similar, but never quite as alive
                           As the original

Sometimes the little letters that I put down
Remind me of tiny bugs
Skittering across the page
Sometimes I squish them with my eraser.
But they leave their pink guts
So that they won’t ever be fully forgotten.

One day I will publish a book
Called
“Your Imagination”
And have a novel of empty pages
To sell to the masses
So that everyone could see that each blank sheet is whatever they want it to be.