poet in a world of blanks

Furious eyes burned holes through singed paper

Leaving hungry mouths gaping in the pure white

The empty canvas with room for beauty

Was only marred by a careful hand

But was emblazoned with a beauty new

When a frenzied hand picked up the ink

And drew a picture

Never before seen.

The hand drew with words, not paints or pictures

It sailed across the pristine snow

Letting blood rake across the page

Leaving a piece of themself

To share beauty in a world,

Filled with scoffing, freezing snow,