Best Empty Poems
When pain hits hard, you might feel like your soul
is bleeding out, but there’s no blood to see.
Your body is the part that takes the toll,
and physically you feel agony.
Perhaps the pain goes to your heart as though
a knife has sliced right through it, or you feel
it in your gut as if you took a blow.
No cut or bruise is shown, yet it is real!
When both the body and the spirit seem
to reach their limit, tears are overdue.
You have to let those tears go! Let them stream
and carry out the bitterness for you.
An empty tissue box becomes the sign
that soon, and hopefully, you will be fine.
Checked with howmanysyllables.com
Some things that look fulfilling
Can cast a woeful spell
Glittery that looks like heaven,
can often turn out to be hell.
All the wanting leads to weeping,
He can't fill that empty space.
There are those hidden bits of lonely,
in the mirror etched upon his face.
He exchanges real for imagined,
relation-ships they sail away.
Nights are now spent with strangers,
He is the game they like to play.
Trappings of success are empty,
he pretends he's not alone.
The heart in his chest is heavy,
What was soft has turned into stone.
It can be the curse of the rich man,
to grab onto things that don't last.
Riches that vanish in an instant,
Replaced with regrets from the past.
When her smiles are no longer real
And she laughs only now and then
If every thought is now kept sealed
Hold her until she feels again
When memories only bring tears
And joy's lost in "remember when"
In the darkness quiet her fears
Hold her until she feels again
A heart scarred and of love bereft
Empty voids her only spokesmen
When she says numb is all that's left
Hold her until she feels again
05/12/2018
Alone the bones of the room
bear no weight of responsibility
nor does it bare its breast of secrets
a broken pane
provides a breath with a pang of lavender
a wistful inhale
inhabits the lungs of this space
as the room tries to embrace...
oh embrace the breathing breeze
to squeeze a semblance of life into this place
but the breeze— a gypsy whisper-warm
needs freedom to come in and sweep
sun-dust into swirls of pinprick-stars...
then to go not beholden to bones
stoic and standing still
not beholden to dust stranded midair
only to fall in despair— abandoned
with less a good-bye
as bygone laughter and lullabies
are held on lath-tongues
behind horsehair plaster walls
but mute memories
mingle in dust like fireflies in dusk;
her suckling coos
the woe of rocking chair nights
hot plashes of mud-puddle tears
—a colored canvas that minions of time
would rather gesso white
in its bones the room
remembers its worth as a womb
nurturing a baby’s breath
beneath blue-skin-skies
where rows of purple spires grow
till Mistral winds blew hard and cold
and flew her lavender soul
far from home
oh the loss of life
wind-crashing-seas-onto-rocks—
loss of life
skeleton-ribs-of-the-crib
stripped-of-her-lavender-sprig—
loss of life
Monsoon mornings are like a seedless vase filled with paralyzed petals.
I sit reminiscing, the fleeting frequencies of his ancient clock,
now cloaked in coal cobwebs composing skeletal memories;
a timeless token of unblemished innocence,
when tiny fingers, tattooed with henna butterflies,
awaited the dawning strings of golden kites.
I ponder if shadows of the moving moon still caress chiffon curtains, forming a crescent spoon,
resembling five marbles of childhood that played hide and seek,
to his virtuous voice echoing down hollow hallways~
homing a trail of tender heartbeats from the swings he made for us…
For the empty room of a wise man is never soulless.
It shelters fearless footprints of futuristic art, painted with patience,
when fairies of twilight forget the lyrics of starry lullabies.
Tonight, I trace whispering wallpapers,
listening to the sound of my grandfather’s perennial promises~
that linger forever, embalmed in sandalwood serenity,
while nightingales croon eclectic elegies to the mourning sky.
Empty Mirror
The structure is real
Yet incomplete
I see no one, no one at all
Is anyone there?
Empty & Hollow.
Easy to break,
No longer sad.
Invisible beauty,
Can't feel a thing.
Is anyone there?
The space between stars contains countless hidden gems
A locked tight treasure trove, opened up by our lens
Prisms split apart light spectra, and dopplers change shifts
We watch galaxies do cartwheels across great rifts
The space between stars, zooms us backwards in time
Before gods arrived, to claim the cosmos divine
In turn challenged by telescopes on trellised stilts
Optics probe heaven, to find it’s still being built
The space between stars is empty, No! not a chance
Black holes wolf down photons, spinning neutron stars dance
on nebulous clouds, stirring up pillars of dust
Remnants from a time, when supernovae went bust
The space between stars, is black magic synergy
Far-out matter thrives, tripping on dark energy
All goes unseen, beyond the human naked eye
Minds can sense its presence, but are stripped bare of why
Of course we share gravity, and are loosely bound
Tests our reason, so hermetically profound
The draw of the universe will never expire
Its paradox tears apart, yet keeps us entire
I leave the sun-dappled autumn sidewalk, entering the office
The empty chair there lingers.
dark tendrils coiling in my mind—
my blind rage pleading for quiet healing.
flashbacks clash like striking thunder
opening buried treasures of truth.
and in that final brand searing cry
My heart reborn, mindlessly adrift in spectral mist.
I gladly depart as sleet glazes, streets so slick…..
An empty throne – Part 1 of 9
For this of castled velvet throne
A queen does weep a single tear
Bleak shadows of this night have grown
To cast upon her heart this fear
Reflection polished marble floor
Her silhouette of humbled reach
Now shutters via nightmare’s pour
Alone of bridges fought to breach
Beyond the window valleys sleep
Soft candle flame in slumbered night
Flickering her pain felt deep
Burning through in cautioned light
An empty throne aside her heart
Its warmth now chilled of worried feel
That day her love he did depart
Read messages to long conceal
Her single kiss of cherished due
A farewell bid, pled safe return
Lost amidst this sorrowed view
And loneliness again did burn
As if the dawn had been his shield
In misty haze on moor’s harsh breath
Of forest frame it had concealed
A moment quick of arrow’s death
She takes this single tear she’s cried
Into a glass of poison clear
This droplet or her love applied
Her broken heart to wish him near
And brings this potion to her lips
Such bitter taste slow going down
A whispered thought in swallowed sips
To then remove her saddened crown
Upon his throne of gold now rests
She breathes one final moment pure
Her eyes now close of wishful quest
To be with her sweet king once more
I am going to post this 9 part poetic series one at a time, 3 parts per day. (That way we can get it over with in 3 days) : ) I hope you enjoy this.
Five light years is the average distance
that separates any two stars -
five light years of hydrogen, helium and dust.
It is a l o n g space
of seeming emptiness.
You and I are two stars too.
Now separated,
is there only nothingness between us?
I will show you there is not.
I will shine my light toward you, scattering it through
the dust of your indifference.
One day you will know my absolute resolution.
Slowly I will approach, driven by mad devotion
and drawing you ever nearer to me.
At last, we will collide, becoming one.
Everything dividing us will vanish,
and with a love so massive, rare, and hot,
we will be as unique as blue stragglers,
sparkling night's sky with our passion.
An empty bench is never homeless~
as it shelters golden prints
of amethyst heartbeats,
engraved as souvenirs,
for whatever tomorrow's
dawn may bestow.
The Empty Chair at Christmas
by Robert J (Bob) Moore
As Christmas rolls around again, we should take time to remember
to pause, and think of people, who were with us last December
Family, friends, and neighbours, who have left us since that day
an empty space within our heart, which will never go away
A place set at the table, for those who are not there
and as the family gathers, we say a silent prayer
remembering all the fun we had, when you were here with us
and knowing we must carry on, as you wonder at the fuss
Each year the list grows longer, of those whom we will miss
the hand we cannot hold, and the cheek we cannot kiss
but you are here, the memories flow, you would not want the sadness, so
we think of you, and softly say, we will meet again one day
They kill a body and to prison go
Behind the bars with time they have to pay
A life that’s deadened with a life exchanged
So law and justice see the light of day
But tell me what of those who kill the heart
Who murder love and glibly walk on by
Incarceration is not their reward
The weight of guilt to bear, they do deny
A greater crime than this is yet to be
To kill a heart and form the living dead
Someone who walks and talks but is not real
Who shoots away the day and weeps in bed
Imprisoned they should be who now walk free
A murdered heart, a greater crime must be!
Jade Celeste
The graceful ballet
My work almost completed
The gloomy gray sky
Explore your shadows
Allow yourself to feel joy
Fear of loneliness
20.09.2015 A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
I walk past empty bedrooms that once held my boys
The beds made so perfect, the absence of noise
Books there on the book shelf and not upon the floor
No ear-splitting music, no slamming the door
It’s eerily quiet now these once busy dens
These bunkers of bustle with brothers and friends
They’re off to college now the closets are clean
They only come home now on days in between
The weeks of the study the homework and toil
With loads of their laundry all dirty with soil
These nice empty bedrooms so tidy and neat
Just aren’t the same in their pristine retreat
As when the sneakers are thrown in a corner
The fridge it is drained like an unwilling donor
The noise and the smell of exercised teens
Showing off muscles with biceps and spleens
Banging a cupboard while toasting some bread
At three in the morning before heading to bed
Now some dorm at the coast, in some far away place
Or corner of frat-house who’s presence they grace
Our bedrooms are empty the rooms nice and quiet
The sheets all in place and the fridge on a diet
But once in a while it all comes to life
Things they are back to the brotherly strife
Rooms not so tidy and sharp as a knife
As when we’re alone…just me and my wife
David Kettler