Hollow Peace
Devin P. Taing
Loneliness
A cure to the bickering discord in the sea of voices,
The last light to be extinguished in a constellation of shallow teardrops.
And when my eyes close and silence drowns out the noises,
I’ll grow insensate, perhaps, save for the heartbeat that one day will stop.
In lost emptiness, I roam the grey world, without purpose, but hypotheticals,
As they surely cannot be one and the same, can they?
Amidst the shapes and sounds and greys and towns and blurred street lights
Curiosity peaks, “What more can be taken away?”
This heartache, I crave, for I know I cannot have much else,
And the ambiguity following the lack thereof is much worse.
Is it truly even loneliness that cures me, or pensiveness itself?
Is it even pensiveness, or a defective mind, that makes me adverse?
Loneliness, it begs and comforts, gives and takes, forgives and forgets.
Deep-rooted within are the secrets of pained tranquility,
And in my hollowed peace, it so strongly resonates
Of the secrets whispered in quiet places, far away from uncertainty.
I reminisce old friends and dusty words long unspoken,
And their slow drift into another form as fragile as a mere idea,
Haunting a place uncannily familiar, yet dishonest withal,
A starless night which parallels fields that outstretch the reach of a desperate call.
As a ghost not quite of malice, a spirit not yet dead,
But a vision of uncertainty.
Loneliness
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