A Sketchbook to Gauge the Passing of Time

Oh how you mock me with blank expression! Your white wings flutter and posses no flaw Unstained and void of any confession You confuse and force my pen to withdraw Empty pages display no expunction: Neither erasure nor trace of human fault Livid and with furious resumption I continue my colorful assault Yet who am I to destroy purity? Is my creative impulse justified? Suddenly ideas are impurities And inspiration leaves me horrified Naïve ideas will be left to age And your loose leaflets will serve as a gage