empty pages made full

it was a blank page.
nothing there.
no heart,
no malice,
nothing yet.
it was a blank page
that stared at me
as I sat there,
looking for it to be
filled.
it was as empty then
as it is now,
staring off into the
void between this and that.
and it said more than any
other page I have ever seen.
it told stories that I had not
thought of before. it sang. it
whimpered. it cried and laughed.
this empty page and another time
when all wasn't so bad and there
was happiness, a little joy, and
the body did not ache. and the mind
was tuned. and the fear was not as
                       thick.
I am thankful for the empty
page, for what it has not said,
for what it has yet to explain,
for being in its natural state
without judgement or denial.
but now it is full and nothing
has been
               said
      and I am not sure
        if it had ever been said
 before, but it meant something
then as it does now.
     appreciate the blank page,
the empty
                          stare,
the teller of no lies,
                 the proud,
the deranged,
        the tired, blank page.
it is the beginning of something,
the fresh start, the timid pulp
that can see far into the future,
or deep into the past. it can
scale the highest wall and
crouch under the smallest slit.
it allows for all, or nothing. it
is of its own breath. it can make
the fog lift, or the rain come in
sheets. this blank page of ours
is just the beginning. give it soul.
give it heart.
                  let
            it
                        live.