The Weight of What’s Unwritten

Sitting on the garage floor, dust in the air,

a slate board fallen, childhood's weight laid bare.

Scratched and marked stories, time paused for a breath,

dreams spilled in chalk dust, remnants of death.

Each corner chipped like the hopes we once drew,

as time wipes away all, with a dimming hue.

Once full of potential, now caught in despair,

in the silence, I hear echoes of air.

What do I write now, in this void of my mind?

As thoughts lay unformed, too jumbled to find.