Unwritten
The page, the page - It's mocking me.
A 1,000 and one ideas yet nothing to say.
Blankly it stares waiting for me to bleed
Black ink memories and moments
Of times of turmoil and trepidation,
When the world was turned about,
And the allure of the future
All but vanquished.
The page, the page -- It's taunting me.
With it's shadowed wounds
As it tumbles into the trash.
Yet another opportunity lies
Just beneath it, just waiting.
And with uncertainty, calling
To be filled by something more
Than the eternal emptiness.
The page, the page -- It's telling me
To douse the doubt
And take the plunge into
The water of unwritten words.
Yet its temptation is all but
Tempting to my thoughts.
Hence I dismiss the page
And I set down the pen.
Perhaps one day I shall write again.