Lying on a bed of slate and stone
Spirit empty, for love unknown
Broken hearts mend slower than bone
Flesh stings from wounds not sewn
Body lacking both hearth and home

Something... Rome? Nome? Garden Gnome?

...and shit, now I've got nothing.

Sometimes my poems happen that way. I have such grandiose plans to make them something special, something emotionally challenging and stirring. Something that will take the reader's breath away. Then I lose my train of thought, and get lost in the words of others usually. It's different now than in the days when I would focus on music I can feel, the mind blanking white noise of jet engines and the body numbing release of drinking until I had my fill.

And here these words sit. Idle. Not moving. Not moving anything or anyone.

Maybe they should sit on their own. Maybe they need some accompaniment.

A photo? More verses? A quote that can give them balance?

If this was a piece of paper I would probably just spill some coffee on it for character...

Oh, and in case you missed it "Ground" in the title is a verb, past-tense. Not a noun.

Just clarifying.