With Nothing
Lack of communication
is our down-falling
deeper day by day
night by night enthralling
the environs of our silences
ephemeral words followed by touch
it's all we have really
in my mind, too much
of a void to even try to fill
eroding at each engagement
moving steadily to the epicenter
an epergne for decorating my enragement
for being pretty in the silence is all
like a crater discovered at emerging light
forces taken out beyond their control
whittled disappearance of the meteorite.
There's only left a void
however pretty when you walk down
still a void, no matter how you look
when mere wind, the solitary sound
soon blows the ashes toward the environ's crook
to be left with nothing.