sheets of paper

my future is made out of blank sheets of paper.
in my right hand, i hold a pen.
with my blank ink, i write out my own future.
and i draw beautiful images,
dreams in vivid color,
with the hope that maybe, some day, the images will jump off the paper
and into reality.
and my words, written carefully on the white sheets,
are only words, perhaps, for now.
but if i write these words enough times,
over and
over and
over again,
maybe they too will jump off the page.
but who's to know?
everyone in the world has a pen
and they too draw on your white pages.
sometimes they come and white-out your words,
with or without your permission,
and there's nothing you can do about it,
except maybe re-write it all.
sometimes a gust of wind will sweep your papers up and carry them far away.

you can chase them.

or you can watch them float in the air until they sink into a gutter,
crumpled and unreadable.
life is full of choices,
the future is never set in stone.