Blankness
there's a quiescent muse
locked away in a poet's mind
trapped in the hush of silence
that befalls amidst blank pages
his pen sits in a well
suspended inkless of time
unable to scribble words
of romance in verses
no morning rises
risen through his mind
to brighten days
that linger without sun
just a hush
in the chill of january
that sits blank
like this snow
staring back
*someone's words are missing at soup...i used to look forward to the morning rises in verses that he penned... was bummed on this chilly morning to see nothing new once again*
Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2020
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