The empty page
I gaze into the bleakness of the empty page,
engulfed by a sense of futility and despair.
I am like the man who keeps fishing,
though he knows the river is spent.
I cast my line into the milky pool,
choosing to believe there’s one more prize.
My senses cry this is wasted time,
and there is no reason for hope.
But it’s not hope that keeps me
here before the barren page.
Some inner knowing tells me
what I seek beneath the surface
is faith.
