I opened my favorite poetry book
but the pages were blank...
there were no signs of imagery
for me to see in words
no tree top horizon
no signs of life on earth
no flowers to speak of
no roses of worth
sunshine nor moon
not even signs of the colour yellow
no heart on a gutter bleeding
broken by a fellow
no rabbits hopping in the grass
no giraffe reaching the sky
floating down the river
no such lovers entwined
the waiflike ballerina
twirling to the dance of the knights
on the great stage
she is probably at home
wearing hunger and rage?
a world of peace and happy people
on the streets
that\'s just wishful thinking
as the pages are naked and unseen
no oceans to speak of
the waters have run dry
no poets crying
no tears in their eyes
no swans floating freely
no geese to be seen
no children playing
in the garden so green
and shooting stars?
there are certainly none
not even a storm
in a teacup not even one
when pages are blank
the poetry is dead
so I\'ll cover my blank book
in a cover that\'s red.