Blots

The sun came for my drawings

Not to shed light on them, as it were

But to erase them entirely

I had taped them to the walls by my desk

To create some sort of atmosphere

Of having created things in the past

Things whose company I might enjoy

As I try to coax something new

Or strange or profound

From my wandering mind

But the sun came for them

Wiped away the pen strokes

Returned the sheets of paper to white

Blanked them as canvasses

Basically asked me to try again 

Or give up or keep going.