I stood by the river
watching the small waves
lap upon the somewhat desolate shore
Your voice rang close
in mind
I’m bare–
naked once again.
What is that empty
void that keeps haunting my core?
The inner gnawing seems to cease
and then
it comes
like the following question:
How do I make these poems
sound new?
Even the sing-song rhyming
scheme has become a bore
as I feel that I
have nothing left to say
as if the Void
has consumed it all
by the banks
of the unimaginable
and somewhat
and now


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