Tell me… What do you see on this surface of white?
Give this its due attention and take it to heart.
It must all come from you. Not to any degree
Do I want to persuade you to how that I see.
What does it look to you like? …An ill-conceived start
Of a useless endeavor acted out of spite?
You can’t say that it’s nothing. I put something here.
Though it may not be visible, you were witness
To my having hand-placed it here moments ago.
So, I ask now, What is it? We’d all like to know.
Do I make a vague point here? Or need I digress
To that which cannot be the point, just to be clear?
“It’s a tiny black dot,” certainly some would say,
Or a spot or a full stop or a period.
Your impatience would grow if you were prodded on.
You’d complain, “What’s the point, jerk? Our interest is gone!
Are you paranoid that there are not myriad
Things to call a damned spot, friend? You mess with our day!”
That’s precisely the issue. The Whole Empty Page
Is the thing of importance – not the tiny spot.
With our focus on little things, big things we miss.
All that we know is nestled in enormous bliss.
The story of existence has us as its plot.
We act out our star roles on a minuscule stage.