A blank white page, lies unscathed,
Untouched by the hands of humanity.
A canvas lay, like a road, unpaved—
Untrodden to the toils our vanity.
In ebon ink, in rhymes, I think,
Spilling drops of knowledge on the page.
These lines I leak, into ivory, sink;
Finally, free from this cognitive cage.
Like needle sew, my seed will grow,
As roots take hold inside your mind.
Branching thoughts flit to and fro—
They ebb and flow, like butterflies.
As they rest on sands of newfound lands,
Forming new mentalities.
They'll soon be off to fly again,
To forge a new reality.