Conditioned: Ill Will

Wordless,
Speechless,
I stare
At the page,

Empty of thoughts,
Vacant of purpose
Where to from here?
Cloudy or clear?

Ill will haunts the mind
Like a stray cat
Hunting for mice on which to pounce
In an abandoned barn,

And finding none
Frets about,
Jumping at noises
And lunging at light beams.

Meanwhile, outside
The sun sets,
The glow subsides
Into darkness.

The cat resorts to
Pouncing on
The lengthening shadows
Until it tires of this futile sport.

Frustration sets in,
And the feline yowls
Then listens for
Some answering howl.