They remain the same when the coffee’s cold, or when the
dawn bleeds color on the black night vigils of our studies, plans,
dreams, and goals.
If we could but sort through the
mounds and mountains of we’ve made of them,
man’s fathomable mind would know to explore them
and why they make us who we are, and how we think.
The unused line is passed over, left blank and wanting.
We see nothing, and nothing seems to change.
The line has nothing to show for its existence,
or so it believes.
Does it despair, perhaps ignoring a truer, higher purpose?
What it does not know is that it provides
a delineation and organization
of thought.
It is, in and of itself, a break in the narrative.
It whispers to the brain to retain all the information gathered,
then build on it, or depart from it to explore
a new realm of information, imagination,
the character of your story’s character.
If only we could tell the unused line
it isn’t empty at all.
Beyond Panic 