I am an infant in the darkness
As my trembling hands
clutch the pen and paper put before me
I am motionless

Tears and sweat
drip on the blank page
Smudging the ephemeral
They leave no mark

If I attempted to write my personal words
their aimlessness would scar
the virgin parchment 
Though my pen is full
and the sheet long
I fear wasted words that will avail me not

Those around me jeer and yell
Press hard with your pen
and write what we say

But their sheets are torn and mine is still intact
The frustration consumes me until
Sparks in my heart ignite my soul
illuminate the surface
to which delicate script starts to hold