Empty Days

A calendar waits, blank pages unfold,

whispers of nothing, the silence feels cold.

Days stretch like shadows, dull and withdrawn,

a reflection of life, like dew on the lawn.

I flip through the dates, each empty square stares,

a testament of drifting, too much time wears.

Inaction grips tight, my heart weighs in fear,

those white, vacant spaces like echoes I hear.