Absence

Writing seems pointless when no one is listening The cares of the world seem trivial Money, fame, recognition fruitless blossoms of a dead tree The earth spins as if it had a purpose While the pointless spinnings of an old woman's yarns make perfect sense I find caring leaving as though it was only a temporary tenant in my minds ghetto I'm running through the forest of my deepest, darkest feelings If love knows no bounds then the bank account full or empty would not change a thing My pen fails to capture the true me as I leave my mind to be looked after by a temporary absence of thought