Hollowed
I lie crumpled at the foot of my own bed --
there are moments when I am empty,
rushing water pouring over smooth, flat stones.
I stare vacantly at the slow torrent of sky
and at the unchanging rooms of my life.
I commiserate with the moaning of the wind
and the battering of the tall grass of the plains.
Copyright © Sam Mayhue | Year Posted 2011
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