Blank Slate Poem by Bianca Free
Blank Slate
I find meaning in the air that I breathe;
It is food for the flowers.
And meaning in my footsteps
that bring death to spiders.
In my hands is money for poor beggars,
In my head is a realm of questions and answers.
Every part of me is the holder of some small fate.
I wasn't thrown together on a whim.
My existence carries a lot of weight.
Who is anyone to call me a blank slate?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 6:07:08 AM # 1.0.0.1119
There is a lot of genius here; steps that seem innocuous enough- but kill insects, the psyche posing questions and then answering them, and best of all, Every part of me is the holder of some small fate. I wasn't thrown together on a whim. and that almost-pun (or perhaps a full pun?) 'My existence carries a lot of weight..'and then that cymbal-smashing last line..you are almost a fable, so that I find myself praying you are still about, busy writing your gems.. a most unusual, uncommon being, watching and writing down its own thoughts with beauty and honesty..the reason we humans were supposed to be 'needed' by the world, according to some trains of thought (but I am just a confused deer in their headlights don't mind me, lol)