The first page between your hands
And you are afraid to decide,
Turn it over unfinished,
Or stay on, hold a pencil and write?
The story of standing still
Like an old gray straw,
The story of your dull life
With no tinge of happiness or hue
Of sweet madness.
The book of your lifetime,
After all these years, appears blank
And at page one you are still standing,
How to start with a stunning sentence
And beat the others.
But the sentence never comes
And you stand still,
Without turning the page over
Nor fill it
With the boring story of yours.
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Comments about this poem (Page One by inas essa )
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