So, I sit and stare...

I stare at the blankness of the beckoning page.  Do I have something to say?  The emptiness taunts me, the blankness, like a silent elevator among strangers, I am compelled to make a joke.  Compelled to speak.  The silence is painful.   The blankness is painful. And so, I throw ink on the page, words to  the silence.  AND for what?  What is this saying other than I feel a need to communicate.  I in my silence.  My blissful silence.  I, the lonely poet,  I feel a need to speak?

No, not speak.  A need to communicate.  This is my communication.  This is my voice.  These are my songs, my blogs.  This is what I do. 

Whenever.I.remember...

DN