Not Enough to Begin With

To begin with, there are empty pages

That moment feels like the dark ages

Some sleep has slowed down the time

A reverie stirs languidly on a loud chime

Weeping darkness is waiting in anguish

A feeble day has to momentarily languish

Secrets waiting to be honestly embraced

Anomalies in time and language displaced

It is a long wait before a pen can speak

A bawdy journey makes a heart meek

Precious feelings like a shy bud sleep

Difficult times cannot promises keep

Echoes all around some strange whispering

Fading light at the horizon keeps flickering

Blank pages wooed by frivolous wind

For it feels that a pen has gone blind

A lonely valley looks at life scornfully

Ink flows across the table mournfully



3 thoughts on “Not Enough to Begin With

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