A Blank Space


A Blank Space
My mind

It may be thought a blank canvas

Clear of any thing or any think

But, blink, and you may miss

The idle thought

Wending it’s lonesome way

From edge to edge

Leaving nary a trace

Of anything;

Having brought nothing to the table

And left the same nothing of note.
I, once, wrote

Of a time when

Rhyme was all I could do;

That was Thensday

This is nowhere the same;

I gave that time a name

‘The Time of Rhythmic Plenty’

Which seems an age ago

And as unlike now as possible;

It’s feasible that the ‘Time of Rhythmic Plenty’

May come again –

But, I can’t say when

Or if

That will be…

Maybe tomorrow;

Maybe the day after

Or a day after that…

We shall see. 

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