The Pyle Inside

Though I search, I search in vain.

To look once more, to look again,

To see with hope what isn’t there

I try, then try to seek some more.

As rain the tears of my defeat

I find my efforts obsolete,

As splatter ink drops from my pen

I find that I am lost again.

My paper’s blank, a whitened field

An icy plain that nothing yields,

A barren story, frigid night

That grows no words, no words I write…