The empty page stares back at me with silent reproach,
Seeming to whisper:
Say something!
Speak from the heart!
But my mind, my soul seem as blank as the page,
Mumbling in defense:
Nothing to say…
My heart grows tired…
Once I wrote with passion about joy and pain:
Madness and grief,
Children and regret,
Death and sorrow,
Nature and wonder,
Dreams and hope.
But now only muffled echoes linger on,
Fading to silence:
Without emotion…
Waiting for stillness.
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