Sitting, staring, waiting for the words to flow

What will they say and how much will they show

Of what I think now and how my mind works

The day that I’ve had and my own little quirks

When you read what I write who do you think I am

What picture do you create of this anonymous man

Has he had a full life or is he just starting out

Does he speak in a whisper or talk with a shout

Should these things even cross your mind

Or are the words just that and to the rest you’re blind

A picture can be built from the words on a page

Our imagination limitless as to what can be made

We each choose to see what we do

And all will be as different as I am from you