emptiness is sort of strange, isn't it?
when you've got
an empty piggybank
or
an empty backpack
it isn't much,
it's nothing really.
but to feel empty,
to feel hollow and frankly
to feel dead inside,
is everything.
it's all consuming.
swallowing up anything else
until
you are so full of nothing
that you think you might
burst.
she comes from a world
of puddles and stars.
from a world where
lion and lamb play
innocently, happily together.
a world where she wears
her heart on her sleeve,
and hopes and trusts although
i don't know who i am
nor do i think i ever will
but
i want to be so much.
i want to be a poet,
carefully nurturing
then raising and sharing,
the sustenance of the soul.
every once in a while,
the sky gets tired
and hides its face behind
hands of light gray clouds.
it sighs in quiet thunder,
and lets tears of blue
slip loose, trailing softly down
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