White, White is the Fluffy Blanket

by Riley

White, white is the fluffy blanket presently pulled out of the dryer;

Static electricity still embraces the bed spread making it unbearable to touch;

White is the blank paper taunting me from its position on the desk before me;

It mocks me in its whiteness, secretly knowing that I have nothing to offer it;

Oh how I loathe that white paper in its entirety for I know what it jeers is true.


Dry, dry is the dirt behind the cozy cottage;

Parched for the lack of rain had dehydrated the land, stripping away its ability to yield a harvest;

The farmer hopes that one day precipitation will feel generous and bestow its gift upon the earth;

But until then the dirt remains barren;

Unfruitful and infertile is the earth beneath my feet.


Rare, rare are the seeds of inspiration;

Uncommon and coveted are these treasures;

When found can bring true creativity and fertility;

This is what I search for, long for and hope for.


Welcome, welcome is the rain that washes the soil;

Making what was sterile, fruitful once more;

So is my paper now drenched with the flow of knowledge proceeding from my mind;

 I rejoice in the coming of the rain.

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