A eulogy

I’ve stared at this paper for an hour now, and its blankness gazes back at me.

There is something mocking in the way  light glints off the beady little lines where words should be.

This single, reproachful shee of paper, still empty after an hour, makes the mind wonder.

Do I mourn for the departed, or do I lament my inability to love,

The futile spams of a heart long stoned against the edges of the world, so as to sink them with it.