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
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