Once again, I stare at a blank canvas,
Waiting to be filled, however faintly,
With some presage of color, something
Spilled like paints from my heart.
I wait, and consult the mandala,
I open the window and consult
The moon, the stars, and all of
The immense darkness besides.
A horoscope, the augur of tarot
Cards, the reading of my own palm,
The indefinable current sensation
Of my continued existing.
I stand and pace aimlessly around
This room all too unfamiliar alight,
With its cold tiles and my cold feet,
Hearing the sound of my own breathing.
I look towards the wall, see past it
And imagine everything and all beyond
This terse veil of life, towards some
Other inescapable wishy-washy,
Piece of mind.
Finished, a full canvas that I naught
Know how came to be, I sip my tea,
With a sigh of relief, yet another day
I´m devoured by my own uncertainty.