Whiter than White

A shade whiter than white, like a sheet of paper unblemished by the blueness of ink.
Nothingness, above and beneath, to her left and to her right, and beyond.
Neither a beam is cast nor a shadow is cast in this land that is whiter than white.

She wishes to dance and thus hears her footsteps, 
“But where is my joy,‟ she thinks.
She wishes to weep and thus hears her cry, 
“But where is my sorrow,‟ she thinks.
She wishes to bleed and thus hears the dribble, 
“But where is my pain,‟ she thinks.

Truly, a land whiter than white unblemished by the ugliness of life.
There is no joy, there is no sorrow, and there is no pain here.
Perhaps here is where our souls merge as one after departing the materialistic inn.