a fresh page

neatly, he turned over to a fresh page. he stopped to think. held his pen against the paper and wrote a poem. he loved the sound it made. the friction of the paper against pen. the romance. pages upon pages words flow in uninhibited vehemence. words come screaming out dancing in merry, weeping in pain.he finsihed the last few words 'for all that was me'. he looked out of the window. children played in the streets. they shouted they hollered they made unintelligible sounds. he turned back. tore the pages. he mused at himself and turned over to a fresh page