Empty Page

An empty page on my desk
as evening shadows fall.
Hand shaking, unsure what to write,
or if I even remember
how words form poems.

The future looms silent and heavy,
an open door that leads anywhere.
Or everywhere.
Or nowhere.
It whispers against my neck,
of promises it might not keep,
dreams that blur and fade,
paths that spiral into mist.

Every choice a stone skipped
across dark waters,
and I hold my breath,
watching ripples spread around me,
wondering if I will sink,
or learn to swim.

My pen touches the paper,
and I write a poem about a girl,
alone and afraid,
sitting at her desk
filling an empty page
with a poem about hope,
grasping for a reason to believe
in a future she can't quite see.