NEW, OLD, BLANK, FULL

A painter's brush falters and falls,

pausing sharply at the bloody blight

upon the faded, evergreen canvas

where blank was the imagination's wall.

The imagination, with land upon land,

felt empty beneath the fraudulent light

beaming down for the sake of the leaves

-- the leaves which fall, which care not at all.

The breadth of opportunity climbs,

while the windows close their blinds,

hiding away the dazzling treasures

to all but the bravest minds of fantasy's call.