Ellipses One day the ink runs dry, The stains stop short on the page. A hesitant pen stock still, held tight. The silence ever daunting, hard to gauge. The gap grows ever larger; A shouting absence fills the Space. A chasm that ink could never cover, A blankness taking its place. This gift will not be tied in a bow. No room for pretty neatness; Perfection would hardly fill this hole, Positioned punctuation ever hopeless Words crack under the Pressure of understanding; A longing for explanation, Pain of impossibility, a mind fighting But the page refuses to provide Those simple songs of light, No number of letters could ever entrap This beauty or its bite but Perhaps silence could try… Natalya Hoare
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