an ever blank canvas, by Victor Darby

there stands an ever blank canvas,
leant against the wall.
painted a thousand times 
a sharp white it still glares 

what use of memories
when it can only start anew?
why tell stories
when it can only be a gap? 

lived, experienced - of course it has,
only it is not sure when

whatever it is 
it is for a moment.

whatever it was
it cannot remember.

Go, paint, make it your own - 
you will see nothingness when you look back