Abandoned

The desk stands in the shadowed study, oblivious to the knowledge that relies on its strong legs for support. Ideas sit forsaken and scattered, half lives known only to the writer. A brown leather journal, bound with a strap, longs for an entry. A picture lies face down, once the muse, now the block. Crumpled papers litter the dusty floor, evidence of frustrating attempts at perfection. A stack of books leans impossibly to one side, like the mind of the writer, unable to endure the smallest disturbance. The desk, once the birthplace of brilliance, abandoned for peace of mind.