After you left this town,
the people and the things inside it lost their spark.
It was always a sad, lonely, dark little town,
but you brought light to it
with your bright eyes, your gorgeous smile,
your charming personality.
You made the whole place feel alive.
Like living inside a movie.
Everyone ignored the town’s gloomy presence because of you.
Somehow your laughter softened the silence,
somehow your existence made this place feel worth staying in.
But now that you’re gone,
everything feels ruined.
The post office hasn’t been touched in years.
No one gossips at the café anymore.
Nobody even bothers leaving their houses now.
The streets feel colder,
quieter,
emptier than they ever did before.
And me
what am I supposed to do
stuck in a town this small,
this sleepy,
this gloomy,
without the one thing that ever lit it up?
You.
So I guess it’s better
just sleeping in with the town.
Dust floats in the air
drifting powerlessly.
Nobody knows they exist;
I suppose you could call it freedom.
Except the world loves commotion, the bustle,
and there is nowhere for the silent dust
to settle but upon the floor,
no fate but to be trampled.
It leaves just the desert sand waiting for flowers,
just the forest bench waiting for love,
just a cold toastie, waiting for the oven.
Just me, trying to let it all go.
I guess I can still propose to my shadow.
Waves of tears wash over me;
they force me to breathe.
In.
Out.
Then they are gone,
leaving me alive but somehow emptier than ever.
Hollow.
What even matters anymore?
I'm just me,
I'm only me,
only the ashes of a fallen firework.
Why would I care what the world thinks?
I can feel the wind dragging me away,
so light, so weightless,
just a speck in a storm.
Can you stay just a little longer?
I know you won't
but it's okay.
I don't need it anymore.
I wanted to see you for a last time in-person,
But you let everyone else, except me, in.
I'm sad I will never see or talk to you again.
Surely we'll meet again, just unsure when.
So instead I am visiting here, in your absence.
But I'm not alone, I have my father's presence.
Though it's emptier here, I feel your essence.
I know nothing will make any difference.
I'm colouring at coffee table like in my youth.
I'm reflecting on what was the bigger truth.
I'm sorry for all the moments I was uncouth.
I miss how you sometimes had a sweet tooth.
I decided it is here I much rather not stay.
I just needed to be here for longer than a day.
I'm self-therapying slowly out of mood so gray.
Though you're gone, my love will not go away.
I wish thou wert here by my side,
The days grow emptier without thee;
The nights seems quieter and longer -
There's not a night without thy thoughts,
Thy memories linger deep in me;
I couldn't shake them off nor cast aside.
I long for thee Sweetest love.
I breathe thee as days begin to drift -
In thee, I lost my own self,
Yet couldn't hold thee dearly near.
I miss thee now and ever more,
Yet know not if thou feel'st me too.
In my doubt, I wonder and ponder -
I wish thou wert mine, now and ever.
The world is a bit colder
The street a bit emptier
Without your voice
Without your hand to hold.
They do not see me,
only numbers,
a mind wrapped in accolades,
a vessel of knowledge,
but never a soul.
What I do beyond the classroom
is dust in the wind,
unnoticed, unworthy,
a shadow cast by my own intellect.
My mind,
a magnet for praise,
a curse to myself.
neglect my suffering,
worship my GPA.
Scorn my exhaustion,
demand I excel.
Work. Work. Work. Work.
Run faster, push harder,
outshine the one behind,
outdo the one ahead.
Break the cycle.
Be first.
Full ride, perfect score,
rewrite the past in brighter ink.
Don’t be her. Be better.
Don’t compare. But compare.
Lead, but follow.
Stand out, but fit in.
A never-ending tug-of-war,
and when the rope snaps,
I stand alone.
Dangling between purpose and place,
the misplaced piece in a puzzle
that never had a space for me.
In a world of patterns,
I am the outlier, the inconsistency,
the contradiction wrapped in expectation.
My mind—a battlefield,
truth and acceptance at war,
the lines blurred,
the victor unknown.
All I know is that each battle
leaves me emptier
than the last.
The End
there comes a point when you must move on.
the push You need comes from within, not from anyone else.
Better to start alone than carry the weight,
even if it cuts deep at first.
What You had slips away.
the happiness You once knew fades,
And nothing feels the same.
You’ll learn to fix it Yourself—
Quieter.
Emptier.
You don’t need others.
There will always be a End
Little boy number two
Felt the coldness from the air
That was breathed from the family
That grieved and was fighting for two to
Survive something new
And scary and horrible and dismal
The unthinkable and impossible
All along boy number two played alone
In his gated room that felt bigger and emptier
Than when he lived with his brother
And nobody took notice on little boy number three
Who had become seen
With the figurine he kept warm
from his little fingers he held on tightly
The pair of them would never be alone again
Each fragile dandelion Orb of feathered, tiptoed seeds
Invite Curiosity's breath to loft your prosperous needs
Anchor away La Pinta, La Niña, cast off Santa Maria
Heave hoe your Astrolabe Star ward to map Nirvana
Sail well past your daunting precipice in daring abandon
The Perils of Earth's plate, let emptier thoughts imagine
Be bold. Lift in weightless step. Jump ship to board Apollo
Hitch a ride to wander in imagination the coming tomorrow
Iconic smell of cigarettes
were better when Hollywood still gave a damn.
And it was always a good day when talking about days were fun
but now, I just want to be full of emptier things.
I don’t like being outside for too long.
The walls outside talk too much.
The walls inside talk too, but
I can’t hear them.
I remember when yogurt still had a smell.
I can’t really smell Paris either.
Maybe I just need to eat something
To remind myself that something tasted good
But there’s nothing good in that, is there?
The wind howls to me.
It was 9:03.
I could hear thunder.
I don’t want anything to hide under.
I don’t want to avoid the thrill.
The sky has its own twisted will.
I wish I was able to hold an empty glass.
So it can crack and shatter all over the grass.
This day of harsh weather.
Pulls at reality’s tether.
They lost what they lost.
Insurance couldn’t cover the cost.
The town is a little emptier.
They said they’d rebuild in September.
My old barn will be demolished.
This empty barn with no light switch.
This old, haunted place.
This old, worn space.
When the workers came.
They tore through my shame.
This place which was my home for 100 years.
This place where I scared teenagers.
Storms are deadly, storms can cause harm.
But for me, it was a way off this abandoned farm.
I stare into the void of glowing screens,
A modern-day oracle, my silent confidante.
How did life lead me to this pixelated precipice?
A chasm waiting to be bridged by strangers' stories.
The hum of algorithms weaves a tapestry,
Threads of lives unraveling, intertwining.
Wars rage beyond the glass, bloodshed unseen,
Yet here I am, eyes fixed on the luminous abyss.
Digits dance, mocking my inertia,
Their binary whispers a curse upon my mind.
I neglect the tangible, the touch of sun-warmed skin,
Trading it for the cool glow of virtual existence.
Forever waiting, forever scrolling,
I seek solace in the electric hum of connection.
But oh, the irony—the more I consume,
The emptier this lifeless screen becomes.
Give me flesh, give me laughter,
Not just pixels and phantom notifications.
Let me break free from this digital echo,
And find meaning in the warmth of shared moments.
"It's time to go."
Death's cold voice echoed through the cries of the crowd.
A kid of skin and bones in tattered clothes looked at death with much emptier eyes.
"I'm scared." The child trembled.
"What awaits me is void, filled with nothing but fear.
I want to be with my family, far from the noise of bombs and guns,
from the earsplitting cries of victims."
Death reached out a cold hand.
"What awaits you is the pleasant heat of spring,
the warmth amidst the cold. You will suffer no more,
for you are now free from the exploits of war."
I.
you lead me gently,
my soul brushes against yours;
i’m taken over.
II.
i'm drifting closer.
please let me into your skin.
will you want my love?
III.
my gullible heart,
now emptier than before,
heavily guarded.
Who are we in this wicked land
The boat I row in the sea of truth
Is getting emptier day by day
My hands are getting tired
Where am I heading
My mind is getting cramped
The same question that never stops fading
Happiness is an overrated feature.
The spoon to feed that to me
Have fallen into this chopping sea
I’m wandering as a perfect insane
who are labeled with multiple names
Decades past,
white hair replacing the dark ones
That’s the only dark into white things
Ever happened in my life
Simple in virtue, steadfast in duty
It's only nice to be on a plaque
The weight of these words made me fall apart from this world
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.