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.