I crave
of words lingering
spelling out your name.

It deafens me
the cacophonous silence
of your absence.

The bareness of the solitude
the consequence of nothing
the muffled sound
stillness.

That stroll in the woods
Barefooted
blindfolded

It's me who I can't find,
lost in the rumbling sound
of a starry night

It's the emptiness
asphyxiating
choking the nihilism
of non uttered phrases
of non rhyming stanzas
of blank slates of thoughts
of a non written poem.