Sunday, January 12, 2014

Sometimes Silence Speaks Volumes

Drinking in every drop of ink scratched across the page,
Every line. Every dot. 
Hoping for a hidden message. 

Tracing the loops with your fingers,
Memorizing the letters. 
The signature stamped on your heart, 

Yet the paper is cold.
The black font leaves it parched and dry.

Thirsty for a taste, a morsil of fulfillment. But the sustenance you crave disappears with every lifeless word.

Your eyes pour over each syllable until they blur together.
After awhile even the punctuation seems pointless.  

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