This was a poem I wrote after thinking that there's no point in writing cause it won't reach the person I want to address

In a land where the truth lives and lies abolish

A writer lived with one thought to polish

Transcended naked where scars sang and burns tainted

Words lullabied as he cried and fainted

Of the old love he once painted

He wrote to make everything about her timeless

Soon after, the thoughts demolished

With nothing to write and no need for mulish

His memories faded and the feelings bated

'What’s the point?' A voice hailed

The creativeness he once nourished

He closed the book with one thought acknowledged

That his thoughts won’t be much

Beside a transparent image through the mist 

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There's more where that came from!