ennui

Lately

Thoughts do not sprout,

This is a barren season,

The morning holds no promise,

And night thankfully

Brings oblivion,

While the day extends endlessly

In routine.

The heart has closed,

The mind still,

Not a whiff of air,

Something cold in the breast,

A grand emptiness everywhere.

Something has snapped somewhere,

It is low tide,

The moon of the mind

Has set,

But there is not even anguish,

Not even hurt, no emotion,

The leaves do not stir,

There is no storm,

Just an impotent silence here,

An emptiness,

But it is not tranquil,

It is the stuff of vacuums

Of nothingness

Of casting a net

Into a fish-less sea,

With a ringing in the ears,

A restlessness

Of ennui.

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