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.