Inkwell
I stare now at a blank space
Where my life used to be
As though the inkwell has run dry
The end has come to here
A weariness
Life is written all before
Pages torn out
By an invisible hand
Too tired to repeat
Too tired to continue
Sheets all blowing in the wind
Scatter on the wet pavement
I dare not retrieve it
Lest I be found at fault
I did not write this life
I did not leave it