Tale Told By An Empty Page

Expressionless

Yet tells many tales.

 

No sound, no words

Spoken in the wind,

No river of azure

Emblazoned in gold

Yet tell many tales.

No rustle of leaves,

No marching footsteps,

Forsaken lands were these

Yet there exists a past

Of battles waged in fury,

Of wasted blood and agony,

Of silence now prevalent

Silence of many tales.

 

A motionless pen

Ridiculed by dust

Yet told many tales,

Ridiculed by fate

Yet told many tales.

 

Spotless lay a sheet

Fluttering under a weight

Exasperated; waiting to fly

In the morning breeze

And lie;

Fly far from garrulous men

And women alike

To a poet’s den and die,

Wither like an autumn leaf

Into obscurity and blank

Yet rich in though and life

Significant in this world

Insignificant to paltry men

And women alike,

Yet tell a many tales.

 

A virgin lady-like it lay

For my pen

Sole inspiration in my den

Blank as a morbid face

Yet it told me a tale,

Of black roses in a wreath

Where only silence did speak

As loudly as a monarch proud

Yet sombre as a martyr’s shroud

Of the river of azure ink

That slowly turned to red

As parchments of old perished,

A red river shown to me

And then they appeared

To the surface and then

What did I see?

Dishevelled pages afloat

Into my eyes did gloat

Centuries lost in a moment

Yet the tale bore no end,

‘Cause silence leaves us

Astounded, confounded

Yet we wonder till the night

And till the next sunrise

Where the silence bore its birth

Where it followed the dirge

A threnody of forgotten years

Of pages that now lay blank

Yet they told a many tale

Of how the soldiers did fail

Of hope that stood frail

Of love in vain did flail

And spoken words crumbled

Like the morose page in my den

Seeking closure form sorrow

No pain further into morrow.

Deep-seated abhorrence

To host another script.

 

Yet ‘twas just a blank sight

That inspired

To tell the tale of silence

That vowed to speak to our world

Of garrulous paltry men

And women alike,

And seek a poet in earnest

To tell the tale it hid

To weep the tears it hid

Of centuries closed within a lid

And hence it lay fore me.

 

Expressionless

Yet told me a tale.