About Writing

He no longer felt much about writing
disintegrated, crumbled into pieces of
self-deception, not having any opinion
of his disconcerted life.

However, he wrote to his sister
about dividing up words
those with the absence of truth
and those far down the path of darkness
not to be reach, at least for sometime.

They don't amount to much, anyway,
aesthetic and integrity
because there has to be something compelling
about the writings, than skimming on the surface
of the water.

To see words bathed in ignorance,
he'd carefully covered his notepads
let the words flickered on his computer screen
until all had gone silent, not another word
even from his sister.

He looked up the sky contentedly,
no more paper cups slipping away across the universe.
Closed his eyes and reach out, for a moment
he thought he grasped the cloud.