Staring at the blank page, I wonder;
is it staring back at me?
Calling for something desperately,
screaming its existence onto me,
Tempting me, teasing me, luring me;
towards the distant void!
The white, empty, aggrieved void
dying to exist in this non-existent!
All in preparation for the holy birth
of a sacred unknown!
By the time I realize, it's too late,
I have to face my demise.
For the sin of creating,
as a creation, it's not my right!
This enchanting blank verse
should have never seen the light!
Of this overwhelming, oversaturated; yet over-infatuating to the world.
This unholy, forsaken, barren land
provides nothing but an alibi.
I'm sorry, my dear,
I truly am, for letting you come
into something that being.
Seeing you suffer makes me bleed,
hurts me, though not as much as you
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,
but am willing to do it again and again!
If I can experience it once more,
Blurring the fine and thin line
between the creator and the creation.
The malevolent joy that came
of fabricating my firstborn.
