I heard the drowns of words along the lines  
The screams and rings that taunt had tugged at heart  
No psyche in mind and no feelings were signs  
It was a blank yet solemn page of art  
Described by loss of comprehension now  
My brain was not what it had used to be  
As shrewd as stones – I’d happen to allow  
The past could surely, not clearly agree  
I look at this square page with no real words  
Although they keep staring blankly at me  
It's deafening to hear, like white bellbirds  
The aptitude of my sagacity  
In silence, echoes of my words unheard, 
Masterpiece of nothing: inferred yet blurred.