There is a space in time
That is as empty as
Abandoned land

Dejected and barren
Space that is not replete
With pretty, glamorous sounds

No voice to decorate
No notes to colour
The empty canvas

And yet the empty space
In time, dirty and barren,
Is not powerless.

When words become the prelude
To a song of silence that tears away
At the mind within that space

Empty space in time that is
Filled with unspoken melodies
Where hidden colloquy stirs

The silence, if a canvas,
Would hide the punched-in
Wall it hangs over.

The silence exists uncomfortably
Because words are not enough
To address the contention.

And slowly the contention
Becomes tension and builds
Until it bursts.

And the incomplete conversations
Become never-ending,
Raging wars between souls.

Space in time becomes the winner
Because, no longer barren,
It drowns in erratic slur.

And unfinished conversations
Are never finished

They hang in the space of time
Like artifacts in a museum.

I thought that-

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