she notices the change
the sudden shift in how I move
she asks why
I tell her nothing and smile
we talked about this already
why bring it up again
a smile hiding the resentment
leaving her to wonder why
I suffer in the dark
while she only sees my availability
silently destroyed within
my emotional survivability
drained and effortless
unable to explain
with distance ever growing
as does the bitterness
only a continuation of energy collection
without a care for my mind
a deep void
too dark to exist
a pathetic fallacy
an embodiment desperately clinging to within
Gravity rules all bodies of mass
An attraction where size does matter.
It’s a relative kind of thing
Balanced by the inertia
And entropy of everything
Falling away and apart.
So Earth orbits Sun
And likewise Moon, Earth
Because the pulling of one
And the flying away of the other
Makes an elliptical arc
Forces cancelled in compromise.
But what is it that rules gravity?
What is it that holds the dark matter of space together?
What is it that transcends matter altogether?
What is it that creates
When there is nothing to work with?
Within the void
Imagination was born.
Within the void
Anything was possible.
First there was light, then word, then life
But is it the Void Which Binds
That binds them all.
A void, within us and without us
A space for things to grow
A space we most simply know
As love,
Filled with that, of course, but also
Lions and tigers and bears
And pugs.
(8/27/26)
The aeoniums, after much care, still do not grow,
His plight is of that, oh, how he cares for the flowers,
Though I believe he does not know.
His care for every and all,
Will result in his fall,
To the void, the pit, where only regret thrives,
Where the walls that prevent us from understanding each other shall grow tall.
If I was to regret a thing I had done,
It would be the crushing of those syringas,
So that I may live, unchained by the pressure of others,
So that I could breathe freely from my lungs,
I understand, it was necessary, so I mustn't feel remorse.
But his aeoniums, they still remain,
He preserves them, in the hopes that they will bloom once more,
Though in my mind, it is clear.
They have lived far too long to bloom a second time,
If he does not let go soon, he will miss his own life.
He said he loved me,
yet still left me.
If he loved me, how could he hurt me?
Forever, I will love him
the way he could never love me.
Upon trying to stimulate my pineal gland
Through OM chanting for the first time
There before me in the silence that ensued
I saw a great void of raw existence
Frozen and unassuming
Like a door I’ve never opened
In a place I’ve lived my whole life
Everything and nothing was different
Staring at the cat between my feet
I reached down to touch it
And got to see where they exist
I should stop writing because
I feel like I’m bastardizing the eternal
Making a vain sport of it with a poetic devise
I am the very void upon which I now gawk
I took off my clothes to excuse my presence
I should not post this but probably will
Life remains a grand head game
Even after you’ve awakened the divine
Seeing the sacred should change one’s life
but now I’m not sure
Perhaps this is the true epiphany
grievous immoderation ,
satiric and fanatical .
their tenaciousness can invite
inflationary feminization ;
hallelujah !
voider
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 3–9, 2026)
The red on your lips
gives me chills.
The red in my eyes
taunts you, it haunts,
the feeling it kills.
Yet, this void nothing fills.
As light ineffable illumining form,
with heart that feels, mind that thinks and senses five,
caressed by the breeze, currents both cool and warm,
the vehicle ensouled seems to be alive,
though it is but dust, swirled about in the storm,
wherein formless presence is he who does jive,
so as that, not this, polarities rotate,
where from the void, we watch torrents in full spate.
Zipping through the dark
Like lightening, fast and bright
No agenda, just flow
As courage builds in lack of sight
The heart expands in revelation
As the lungs widen in breath
Caring not for the formalities
That separate life from death
What comes to the runners
Is received and yielded in chorus
Having no right to claim meaning
All is in rhythm with the origin of SOURCE
It is what it is, vested soldier
Just be who you are with all His grace
Watch the darkness transform into light
As you chose to fully occupy given space
....vending the void
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07-23-2026
Handsets
peppy ringing
fosters frequent discourse
bridging loneliness with a prompt
chinwag
gadgets
solid gainful
employ explores express
rapport despite widespread qualms re
mobiles
Hemming and hawing this feeling keeps gnawing at my mind
Why look to Freud his own advice was void he couldn’t pick a side
I have aces and a joker, he had a tarot card hand
With all the mysticism all you grasp at is sand
The hummingbird hums because he doesn’t know what to sing [a]
And if you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything [b]
So says Freud that it’s the pursuit of happiness, (that unstable quest)
(And Freud being dead) Jesus said it’s the pursuit of holiness, that's best [c]
I want to be someone's moon,
Glowing bright through night or noon,
No matter how incomplete I seem,
Still beautiful inside their dream.
So many shining stars above,
So many gazes lost in love,
I'm just a soul lost in phases,
Lost among their brighter faces.
So I'll keep shouting into void,
Even if the sound gets void,
For somewhere, someone still might see
The moon that no one thought could be.
Your shadow stands where
you used to stand,
An empty space where I
once held your hand.
The silence echoes with your
quiet name,
The world moves on, but
cannot stay the same.
I watch the sunset fade from
gold to gray,
And count the pieces that
you took away.
A love so deep, now quiet
as a stone,
I never knew how hard it was
to be alone.
the irate alarm clock loudly beeps
springing him wide awake.
funny though, as time
continues to stand still
in the nothingness of twilight.
lying supine, he looks up at the ceiling,
caged in his dark and grim thoughts.
in the hush, an ocean of anxiety churns
in the pit of his stomach,
but it's all in his head.
meanwhile, dirty laundry sprawls across his bed.
the flicker of a moribund light
has burnt out between his eyelids.
stretched shadows pretend to be demons.
the conquered spirit...
tucks in its weather-beaten wings,
numb to the cold, dreadful uncertainty
that tomorrow brings. with each breath,
it feels like a slow, mundane death
where hope is only a faint whisper.
autumns crinkled leaves
winters harsh touch on landscape
dried vegetation
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