The blank page of the diary

mocks me with a gruesome

eye, more so

than a verse unfulfilled

stuck in my mind,

eager to be released and kiss

the world, fight it

if it must.

The day that is blank

just reminds me that

Time has nothing to offer me,

not this day,

perhaps not tomorrow

and in a run of a week

where nothing is planned,

that gruesome eye burns

with greed, stolen

all that is worthy.