Emptiness of Poetry

Poetry has left me again I’ve bled the hills and trees for words I’ve searched for verbs in the hours When someone fills the emptiness I will have no need for pronouns No talk or fragments fulfills you I woke frenzied in the morning Put on headphones to muzzle thoughts Anything but to hear your silence When coffers are empty of nouns I scrape the bottom of the barrel Hoping for slick prepositions You goad me to write an opus To paint my vain adjectives true To color not wanting replies Resurrect wordly as Jesus did Real as adverbs without fullness To ascend to servers in glory Craft a mind razor-sharp each day Cutting through pronoun’s bull Swinging conjunctions as swords This poem has hemorrhaged me I’ve bled for you till nothing’s left Grammar paler with my emptiness Careless of my prideful sharpening Decimating mourning subjects Fill me when objects go empty *** Ecclesiastes 1:2 'Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity.'