Best Hollowness Poems
An emptiness follows me
Walks with me
Haunts the present
With claws of the past
Tearing moments asunder
Increasing the hollowness
Of a now
Devoid of what was
When.
As Pharoah thought
Deep thoughts on Thoth,
He became serious
And thought of Osiris.
What of Seth?
What do Anubis and Horus sayeth?
Of Amun and Mut,
And panoplied Nut?
It may take me forever
Mused the Pharoah -
To invent the Alphabet
To honour me and the rest.
So he hit upon a plan
From the carved likeness of man
In relief on a cliff.
Hey, hello - was born the Hieroglyph!
So excited was the Pharaoh
That row upon row
Of ideograms were made
For then and beyond- never to fade.
Way back in Antiquity
Was the hieroglyph's nativity,
From civilization's start
Great works of art.
After five millennia or more
At a light and sound show
The Hieroglyphs stand out
In splendor and shout:
Look on and wonder
On our days of thunder;
When great kings ruled the land
Where you wonder and stand.
Great things we'd tell you
If only you knew
To read papyrus and stone
Like your own Champollion!
Be that as it may
Setting aside our dismay
We venture to now and here
And our version of the ancient fear -
Athazagoraphobic
Is a form of being sick
Where you fear you'll be forgotten
As your memory gets rotten.
To overcome this fear
Modern science was here.
Came our Dennis Gabor
With the fruit of his labor.
- Hologram-
Now you can see light effects
Both form and the texts
With science of the day
Having had it's great say.
But think all over again-
Isn't it plain
Holograms in chips
Are but chipped hieroglyphs?
That some day in future
A post-apocalyptic preacher
Would try to decipher
The hologrammatic cipher?
A Rosetta Stone of old
A better story told
Than this obsolescent chip
Of a "modern" Athazagoraphobic.
Let me wind up this ditty
Of trying to be witty
Holograms and Hieroglyphs
Are both alliterative scripts!
~11 April 2016~
Contest Judged : 29 May 2016
Un-----earthed
my----self
de--ci--sive--ly
Near-ly bust-ed
Lay-ing on rocks...
Weakened spiritually; Rejuvenation before long—
Tucked in that rock-bottom chasm,
nevertheless kept dreaming—
Woking up—
Surprisingly distant from myself;
Although, woken to that seemly monotonus dream/thought...
(As it is of you, my muse)
Some—how stum——bled
;yadretsey emitemoS
Plum-
-met-
-ed
in
regress, ------- ---------
However for today, I exist awakened;
Hollowness had not been that Fathomless—
Dragging myself out from that somber chasm—
Effortlessly brushing rocks back
into
that
Somber
Chasm;
Hearing—Hearing the—the echoing—echoing thuds—thuds as—as they—they hit—hit the—the bottom—botttom of—of that—that
Fathomless somber chasm...
(Not owing to you, little girl)
I do not perceive...precede back to something else?
Trickery-sneakily-deceives Honesty into comfort;
Manipulation will
befall.
Treachery lies to my soul;
Revealing for all...mistook it for loyalty—
(As I had done with you, little girl)
True -3love -3consumed-3-3-3-3-3-3-3-3my being
Desirably-embraced-blissful fantasies;
Appreciated that exhilarating exhaustion—
Had that venom...
Driiippiiiing steeeaaadiiily frooom yooouuur liiips
Since you spat that poison, blinding me...
Obsessed...Am I?
Why argue with the likes of you...
What endeavor occurred was not with you,
Snake.
(Owing to you, little girl)
I do not recognize...proceed towards whatever else.
Had I known you no longer
Passionately prided yourself as my muse,
Intending instead to poisen my muse...
Never been allowed an experience to inspire...
Inspiration now obliterated...someday
(Owing to you, my muse)
Fake love provokes me,
Desperately-embracing-deceitful clarity,
Eagerly evoking what will never disintegrate me.
Anxiously anticipating what arrives after;
Haste helps find my way back into hell.
You have disappeared from my existe---
(As I exist only for you, my muse)
i wonder if this feeling will pass.
if the skin rotting beneath my eyes will become a permanent color of blue,
if the bruises on my knees will fade to nothing more then flesh.
they say this feeling goes away as you age-
im not so sure about that.
i feel the agonizing sensation of pain rotting beneath my chest as the hot mountain water flows down my neck.
i think my soul will rot and burn as others grow flowers with the soil of their burdens,
i wish i could be as beautiful as those flowers.
to be born out of something so rotten and diseased yet still be as alive and beautiful.
if maybe this body of flesh and sin will free me and maybe for once, i’ll be happy purely again-
there will be no “this will be a happy memory” or “this feeling will not last, i’ll be sad again.”
my soul will simply never feel once again.
but even so- would it be better to feel nothing?
to not feel the unholiness beneath your chest that pumps blood.
to not feel the sorrow of once before,
would being numb be even more torturous as being alone?.
Sitting on the nook with head on her knees.
Soft were the eyes that looked at me.
Sunbeam flickers and falls on her face,
Like rainbows, flowers and a lovers gaze.
She loved me, and i could see it with my heart.
But the time wasn't right, and she had long fallen apart,
And suddenly she wasn't there at all.
No smiles, no warm eyes, no one to call,
And i broke down with the last bit of my power.
I wished to meet her again, but i was a coward.
I could not die, nor could i breath,
I wished, and prayed, and hoped, yet, it wasn't me.
She had to go, and i had to let her,
And the memories of my life were repeated, all in a blur.
Your timing, O God, is flawless, they say,
Mercy spills from Your eternal edge.
I cling to that truth, yearning for solace,
Yet it slips as I bleed through the years.
Woes swarm like static, sharp with insult,
Words that cut, leaving a thousand wounds.
Will You, my Maker, cradle me close,
When tears and fragments are all I am?
If pain is a teacher, why is wisdom stalled?
Tears fall freely, but insight won’t rise.
I surrender—heart, mind, my tangled mess—
Yet fear grips tight, numbing my bones.
Your spring of life should mend my soul,
But dread chokes me, a fist at my throat.
Poverty pins me to cold concrete floors,
Your blessings distant, just out of reach.
Why speak of heights my dim eyes can’t see,
Of glow beyond the grave’s heavy veil?
I need bread now, not tales of endless joy.
Hunger drowns whispers of paradise unseen.
You warn of fires below, yet I’m already scorched,
Melting in trials You’ve allowed to unfold.
This whirl of letdowns, this haze of scorn.
Where I am lost to another world to mourn.
You promised a land of milk and peace,
Where grace alone runs deep and free.
But I stand empty, hollowed by grief,
grief my only weight ,sinking deeper.
Your silence erodes my faltering faith,
Your waiting, a detour some devils plan
If Your mercy is real, God, find me now—
Before that path lead me to the murky pit.
a carefully curated posture
shoulders back, chin high
bathed in self assurance
wearing a veil of confidence
thinking can sway the earth
always at centre of stage
fishing for recognition
taking inflated credits for success
bragging of achievements
fancy knowing all
not inclined to learn
to avow mistakes
self-conceited
sense of self- importance
holding themselves in the sky
others as inferior
on low ground
heart turned to stone
seeking own gains
rooted in self exhaltation
raising own ranks
heeding not what others think
words chosen
like precious stones
each syllable weighed
polished, and displayed
for admiring eyes
speaking of journeys
never taken
of battles fought
in hushed rooms
victories whispered
to an invisible court
laughter too loud
too bright
a manufactured chime
to mask silence
that would otherwise reveal
hollowness within
inhabiting a rarefied air
where common ground
is but a place
they condescend to visit
a fleeting curiosity
before returning to their peak
building castles
on fleeting sands
fortified with opinions
that echo their own voice
a fortress of ego
impenetrable
sadly, alone
constant striving
not for growth
but for image
reflecting in lake
that never ripples
always perfect
ever staged
in quiet moments
when performance falters
when mask slips
a flicker of doubt
a tremor of fear
reveals the fragile soul
beneath the regal facade
soon curtain rises
spotlight finds its mark
and the curated posture
steps back into place
the perfect illusion
restored once more.