To a blank sheet

The blank sheet of paper –
I owe you my soul
You promise new venture,
New notions, new goals,
You lie unmolested
On ebony desks
And wait for my pencil
To scratch at your neck.

____________As one we’ll create
____________New horizons and worlds,
____________To speak to the readers
____________Of stories untold.

Rejoice! For this carbon
On dead trees’ remains
Is guided by muses.
The blood in my veins
Is boiling with passion
For what we create;
I’m scribbling the climax
With hastened heart rate.

____________And now, there you lie
____________On the table with glee;
____________Enclosed in black carbon:
____________No longer free.
____________A dull lifeless body
____________A story narrates,
____________A spirit I destroyed –
____________So that I may create.

This was another one of my old poems. I don't really think it needs any comments.

"I don't really think it needs any comments."
But it's nice I like the rhythm. I was bouncing up and down in my seat while reading it.
Only criticism is the second verse, because it doesn't match the others.
No more comments than that, since you did not ask for any. But I like it.

I like the conclusion. It's wicked.
The juxtaposition of "destroyed" and "create" is particularly potent.
Really captures the way I feel whenever I write on paper...

Thanks Y'all.

Katie, by 'comments' I meant I couldn't think of a comment,
NOT THAT I DON'T WANT CRITS!!!!

I think I need to figure out a way to make myself understood and not heard.

LOL.
I don't think it's possible. ;]
We're always misunderstood.