The world thins

Broadcast across time

Like a void

Filled with nix

And the sound of toneless words

Slow death of feeling.

 ~

Clay mortals

Made from fallow fields

Dust and bone

Colors meld

Molded by departed gods

Hands without desire.

 ~

So I turn

To an inner world

That none see

To breathe fire

Back into my listless soul

A faience finish.

 ~

Egos boom

In this loud gray world

I must muse

I must rage

That I might cure my

Anhedonia.

I wrote this poem in the form of a Spanish shadorna which has a specific 6-line syllable structure of 3/5/3/3/7/5 per stanza.