It sits there mocking me in its pristine whiteness.
"I dare you!" it says loudly
without a voice.

I feign a stroke.
it doesn't flinch,
instead, its emptiness seduces me
to stare at what might be contained
within its void,
what masterpiece might dwell
below that virgin face.

I focus deeper
and begin to see
the colors floating in the void,
the ghosts of beings
dancing in its depths
and flying silently
across its endless skies.

A pencil is retrieved
and soon the battle will be joined.
I prepare,
then pause,
then grit my teeth
and take the primal stroke.
Again and again
the graphite meets the void,
till finally the form it hides
takes shape
in soft gray lines
and fussy scribbles
running free on what was once
a blank veneer.

The eraser now,
to capture rebel lines,
to rub them out,
returning them to nothingness.

I turn the music up
to feed the colors dancing in my brain
and watch them writhe in my minds-eye,
prepared to settle on the now lined sheet.

The brush,
the colors and the dyes;
the tools to capture time
are lined before me
like an army set to charge.

Attack!
My mind submits to spirits
swimming in the ether,
leading brushes boldly on,
attacking all the whiteness,
filling up the void.

A frenzy now,
controlled by memories I never had.
colors collide,
outlines demolished,
a cadence of chaos,
a symphony of form;
and then silence.

The aftermath of battle.
Battered brushes bleeding gouache and ink
and there upon my easel;
victory!

I stare in triumph.
This moment is the reward
and all that follows simply gilds the rose.
Alone with this creation,
birthing what had never been
is why I live
and for an instant
I am one with all.

I turn again and see it;
a new enemy.
it sits there mocking me in its pristine whiteness.
"I dare you!" it says loudly without a voice.