it is just an empty page calling me
and poetry is born from this mistake.
i feel i need to desorganize my insides
to give birth to a new part of me but
there's no hope because
life has no sense when there's nothing
written, when there are no lines
to be completed.
it is the predicable logic of poetry.
some may think there's no beauty
in a blank page but i see a world
hidden beneath it.
a heart pulses, a petal falls,
an egg breaks and poetry is there:
so fragile and intense.
it comforts me to see it waiting
to be wrapped up in sugar and salt.
it is the predicable logic of poetry:
to be lost and found,
to die in us as we live in doubt
oh enchantment! let me sink
in your multiple voices,
in your illusion and faith
because this page is part of my uthopy
and it needs me to be perplexing