In the empty

Not another sad poem

I don’t want to write another


Moonlight to guide me,

But the heavy’s getting old,

Down by the river,

Numbing my feet in the water

Waiting for “you’ll get used to it” to come

That, or hiding

In the sun of my memory

Kind of poem.

But it’s all I can seem to do,

Scrape this ugly out of what’s been used,

And I’m carrying the spillage from the

Past on my shoulders

In a bucket with sneaky holes burrowed through by hope,

Ever lighter, ever lighter

Turning on a smile to get through,

and so are you.

I see the pools of light when I dare look

in your eyes,

And I sense the urge to run away

At the slightest insight.

So, run from the words in another sad poem,

If that’s what you can manage to do.

And I’ll walk the parallel path,

Putting down words not happy,

But true.

And I’ll call it a release

of less-than-worthy constitutions,

A bottom to the loneliness bred

in our broken institutions,

And maybe when the running’s done

And my words are all tapped out

a blessed emptiness will fall all around.

In the empty, our paths will cross

Our breath will slow

Our shoulders all free

And palms open, exposed

To the elements, skin prickling,

and to the moonlight that led us on here

Wrapped up in my mind,

I see exactly what’s possible Under those conditions.

Nothing’s left to say then,

Nothing’s left to run from then,

And in the empty there’s just the you of you

And the me of me,

Detached from expectation and

Hopelessly free.

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