Hollowness

It’s dark,
the moon just barely waxing,
the stars secluded 
behind November clouds
hanging silent and unmoving,  
blanketing the world 
in quietness, almost haunting,
— and in this stillness
the ache grows.

There is a hollowness
where you should be;
an empty feel
in the palm of my hand,
a nothingness entwined
between my fingers;
there is a silence drifting
past my ears in unheard whispers,
a vacant space before my eyes,
and as the ache grows,
nothing
lingers longingly
upon my lips.

November sidled in,
complacent and poised,
cherished memories safely tucked 
in its back pocket,
and the old familiar feel
of warm days and moonless nights
may paint your touch
on the walls of my heart
but still, there is a hollowness
between the circle of my arms
where you should be
— and the ache 
grows.


Janet Reid
november 2008





Awarded by Poetic Constellations ~ TR