The Journal

The words haven't yet come.
Maybe the story hasn't yet refined.
The road is dark before you;
Yet filled with adventure behind.

It's a journal for your journey,
A companion when there's no friend.
Write down every step you take
Because you can't predict the end.

One hundred forty-four pages of blankness,
That await being filled.
Let the story take control.
Let the ink just flow.
Let the words be those of your soul.

The story's now begun:
You wrote a war of love and hate
And the small causes in between,
Like serendipity and fate.

Eighty-eight pages of blankness now,
That still await being filled.
Let the story take control.
Let the ink just flow.
Let the words be those of your soul.

You know that time's in constant notion
And keeps revolving like this Sphere.
If you begin to wonder where yesterday's gone,
Just look at what you've written here.

Twenty-four pages of blankness left,
How quickly these pages filled.
Always let the story take control.
Always let the ink just flow.
Always let the words be written in your soul.

Ten pages are left for writing:
Could the end be already in sight?
Now five, then three, then two and one,
Never let the story end: just write and write…

Just write.