There is an emptiness unexpressed in words,
that are meaningless sounds anyway,
that can't convey a heart's desire for more
than what is to be had by life and its good
pleasure;
in just living for but a taste of something
more glorious than anything that
can be spoken or written by my deathly hand
whose fingers are weary of searching for
that thing that will fill the void that is
the darkness of a soul's long journey
through sadness and fear of never finding
what is to be had by a joyful heart's
inspiration.
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