Gratitude Drift

A hollow vacancy fills up the hall, With nothing but silence to answer the call. The ledger is white, A stationary blight, As waiting consumes every inch of the wall.

The corridor stretches to nowhere in sight, Devoid of a spark or a flicker of light. The appendix remains, In clinical chains, A progress report that is empty and white.

The ledger was left with a blank, A space where the gratitude sank. No record to read, No signature freed, Just static that hums in the bank.

A protocol stripped of its text, Leaves nobody wondering what’s next. The margins are clean, With nothing between, A document fully perplexed.

The stamp was applied to the void, And all of the context destroyed. A block of pure black, With nothing to track, A form completely devoid.