Empty

In this place where I stand, and sit, and stare, Amongst closed doors and beckoning walls of silence. Where nothing from inside, out and above can share, With this box that binds the body to its essence.... I am not free, held captive, a prisoner of sorts, From this place where I walk about and over, And again and again in seemingless effort, Bound by the chain that serves shelter and cover. In this shallow, and unglad, desert of a place, There I thirst for void that fills my being empty, As I find the infinite nothingness of space, I ask, and plead and cry that nothing allure me. I lay dead inside, not out, from this open world, With my will asking none as the body having, Though doors are open, I, and my heart shuts them cold, In end I lay amongst gold, but rest with nothing.