This is the draft without a name,
Where nothing rises, nothing falls,
A canvas blank, untouched by frame
A breath suspended in the walls.
Silence hums its hollow tune,
Empty as the fading moon.
The colors lost, the edges blur,
It's nothing, the same it always were.
What is a shape without a line?
A pulse without a beat, a sign?
A thought that never takes its form,
The quiet eye before the storm.
A flower’s scent in a garden bare,
Petals long gone, that once were.
In absence, there’s a certain grace,
A formless art, an empty space.
A shadow cast without a light,
A word that never meets the night.
In nothingness, it all begins,
The art of what has never been.
YOU ARE READING
Chaos In My Mind
Poetry𝐼 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑀𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡, 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡, 𝑜ℎ 𝑠𝑎𝑦 ... This is a book of some poems I've written r...
