lonely hours pass into days
and I know not where I should turn
in the dead of a summer haze
my sorry heart doth mutely yearn

with comfort and caress long gone
and hope but a fanciful dream
should all reveries be withdrawn
and solitude held in esteem

where is reason and where is rhyme
they move not forward nor restart
the pulse of life and love mark time
and dimly march upon my heart

what’s it called - this place without name
this place without beat and cadence
perhaps … inertial reference frame
or is it ... a place to commence