“Such wordlessness for a writer?!
No ink so intense, no paper so absorbing, to turn my heart into art.” Thought she.
The sky, with passion, beheld the world,
breathing a dark blanket that embraced
the life within, and fiercely swirled,
to divinely dance in the music thus graced.
Abandoning her artist, the restless ink, the virgin paper,
She freed her bare self out- letting great drops wash over her.
Unseen even to sight was darkness purged,
with the October showers that eclipsed time.
Her world ceased, infinity emerged,
and wordlessness fell to blank verse or rhyme.
For when divine inspiration failed, his being revived,
transcending time and space, all died yet memories survived.
Thus, she sat again, thus, the words brimmed,
thus, the ink flowed and thus, she wrote.
All of him that was hazy and dimmed,
She recaptured and contained in an inky note.