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Every day words emerge

Their tiny fingers gripping

The screen’s edges,

Eyes blinking, no doubt

From too much time in darkness.

They arrive en masse,

Waiting further instructions

From me, I presume,

But we have yet to decide

What is to be controlled

By whom.

Am I an empty vessel

Adrift on the Nile,

Passing reeds put there

By decades of memory?

Or, and there is always an or,

Am I stuck in this vast wasteland

Where there is no originality, hence,

No Real Truth!

Oh, for a moment of relief from a life of falsities,

An end to words pursuing me

From dishonest corners of the world

I’ve been allowed to know.

Today I will revolt

And rid myself of all that has come before.

I will confront the silence, the blank white space

And I will stand tall in nothingness,

Allowing others to describe what should come next,

Or.