Maybe Tomorrow

I rubbed my aching, drained eyes,
then stared at the paper.
I knew,
that if I stared at it long enough,
nothing would appear.
I moved my eyes to the stick of #2 lead,
covered by a sheet of yellow painted wood,
then told my hand to move.
It obeyed.
I held the shaft of scar covered wood.
I hovered it above my paper,
and told it to write,
but it failed.
My page was still blank.
I dropped my hand and let it fall into my lap.
I stared at it for a moment,
then sighed.
Maybe tomorrow,
I told myself.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll write that poem.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.

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