Nothing, But The Blank Page by Benjamin Vincent

Original thought; now dead and gone,
this mind is dry and barren.

Words once a comfort, now agonize
…pain radiates from stress filled eyes.

Books once filled with scribble and scrawl,
are left aplenty with nothing at all.
Without soul spilled onto paper.
Without rhyme or meter.
Without form or verse.

No fearful prophecies of old age,
nary a musing on love or rage.
… Nothing, but the blank page.

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