Sacre Blanc Poem by Blake Foxx

There's this thing, a thing I dream of
Most people call it nothing, but I, only
me, see it as something great. I see
it as my sacred white, my Sacre Blanc.

Its the place I can escape to when life
gets hard. Its the comfort of nothingness.
A feeling not many can speak of, and fewer
know of. When i retreat to that emptiness, i
find happiness in the world around me.

Course with all things said nothing is perfect
and even then sacred white has a flaw.
Its the things that enjoy it so, I make that
void in the comsos unhappy by poluting
it with myself, and there for i am evil.
I wish i could be one with the sacred white,
I wish i could prove i was worthy to enjoy
its comfort.

If only, if only. Maybe one day soon when
im part of the soil I can return to it and
show my loyalty and love for it. Then it will
love me, and i can call it my Sacre Blanc
once more