Notes spread over the paper
White sheets filled with black.
Trying to match the sounds in your head
To the marks on the page.
You can hear it all around you
On this bleak, day of shadow.
The sounds are filling your head,
Trying to escape
Yet trying to stay true to the original
Are you an artist? or a madman?
At times you cannot tell the difference
Which is what and what is which?
You can only do what you must
Discarded in black and white balls
Littered all over the desk
One, thrown in a fit of
Comes to rest near the window panes
Looking out onto a world of greyness.
Ask yourself, is this the best I can do?
For now, it is.
You try to come as close as you can
Yet the words still fall short of the true beauty of