What Shall I Write

What shall I write, About the day, About the night, Perhaps the darkness Perhaps the light What shall I write. Shall we sing a newer song at last, Or hum the same old worn out tune That gasps for breath, That greets the morning sun with anger and with pain. Or shall we just stand silently alone away from hopes and distant from the fire's warmth. These old bones are tired These joints crack and strain under the weigt of so many worries. These old eyes have seen too many injustices to cry anymore. It is best that I look away. Let the distant dreams stay distant and the past stay buried. My pen is silent now, Its colors are dry and useless Its words draw blank and soundless echoes I must not remember it so But let my day begin anew, and trace another line across my face.