October 20, 2007
sitting in an empty house,
in an empty world,
with an empty soul.
Raindrips tap down outside:
I cover my ears,
try to tamp down their sound.
It still reverbs in my head.
But their magic is only
a cheap parlor trick today,
when my lost soul
can only yearn to share their joy.
Inside, my blue-cold fingers
strive to write of you, but
falter without a soul’s warmth behind them.
A hollow soul can work no magic.

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