For hours I have been looking down
At this white, spotless paper. My pen will
Not oblige me by scratching a few words of sense,
My once deft fingers have lost their vigil
To the domineering throttle of doubt and
Entropy and time.
I must have run out of things to say,on this fateful
Day I must honestly reveal, that its only
Natural that the world must be saturated
from my constant baloney.
Now I'm afraid that I impose, even with whispers,
On eyes and ears
And hearts and minds.
These whirlpools of noise will dance across
The universe for a million years to come.
All along I have added to them. Now my
Callousness and confusion, I must shun.
Dissolve in the shadow of silence.