Sameness

Having written of love and war, the budding rose of spring and hope, and all the betrayal of these things, what should I say to the vacant page? I prayed for rain and got a flood. I prayed for the sun and got a drought. I prayed for wars to end, but peace never came. So that in the end this is what matters, things that continue like sunsets, like soldiers marching off to death, like roses and love and spring rain. To think that it can be made new is the ultimate betrayal. It stays the same, the planet circles the sun, the poet stares at an empty white page.