The Drafts Of My Life
Every morning, I turn to the same page,
a blank slate like the dawning day,
the first mark, a soft, uncertain start,
ink weaving into a story yet untold-
a life that’s always rewritten.
I map out my days with unspoken words,
each moment a quick thought that vanishes,
lost in changes, hanging in the edges where
my hopes are stifled in the small print.
I try to write joy, but it blurs away,
in this part we call “now”,
the ink is running low, like time slipping away,
and I’m stuck in a loop of edits and rewrites.
I reach for understanding in the messy lines,
trying to find order in the chaos-
but every surprise feels like something I’ve seen before.
Around me, whispers of lost opportunities echo,
my past lives like crumpled drafts in the corners;
what might have been hangs in the air:
the unedited story of dreams unfinished.
My fingers fly across the still keys; a heavy silence falls-
what’s coming is hidden by doubt:
a writer editing with no ending in sight.
Will there ever be an end to these beginnings?
Or am I destined to keep drafting and deleting forever?
U