I am lost in a silent wonderland,
all comprehension leaves my mind,
an empty basin longing for that waters droplet.
Nothing to think, speak or hear,
no reason nor feeling lingering in my train of thought,
all have left so long ago.
Sitting contemplating why,
yet nothing coming forth, no resolution to be seen.
Wanting, waiting for something to be thought,
even a thought of imperfection, lust or sin.
Anything, nothing comes to mind,
a blank parchment that might as well be set a flame.
Even if a match should find this aging parchment, and set it a light,
maybe then a thought, a word, at least a burning memory.
The ink placed so carefully upon the table might as well spill over,
covering the useless parchment,
for it seems the longing quill has no use for it here.
Shall time pass as my mind stands still,
transfixed upon the empty basin, the blank parchment, the useless ink?
My written word is lost within my mind,
the only expression that I have.






















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