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An Ink Free Diary...


Yes, the pages, of my diary,
Has been empty, lately,
Not because, my mind is empty,
But because, it's too noisy,
I don't hear, a single word, clearly.

Yes, the pages, of my diary,
Are soaked, with salty water, frequently,
Not because, I've forgotten, my vocabulary,
But because, of my tear drop's vanity,
I don't find, a single word, to beat it's quality.

Yes, the pages, of my diary,
Got maroon stains, they were red previously,
Not because, I painted them, happily,
But because, my heart cried out, this tragedy,
I don't find, a single color, that explains so brilliantly.


Yes, the pages, of my diary,
Has gone wordless, there's no clarity,
Not because, my mind has, gone crazy,
But because, she wonder, cluelessly,
I don't find, a single thing, better than an ink free diary....

-Debra R. N. Ludwick-

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