51

It slips away, furtive
and the blank page stares
at the eyes that look
at your fingers tapping the keys.

And what do you write?
What is there to tell
that no one has told before
better than you?

Trying is always good
but what's it worth
when no one will read this
and hear my voice.

Whas is this, really?
my own futile attemp
at going back in time
and learn myself again.