Whispered Wanderings

What is this emptiness,
this hollow can’t-be-filled?
Can’t replenish with words,
because the ones I write –
unworthiest of sherds.

What is this emptiness?
My words sharp and broken,
misshapen. Wrongly formed
gargoyles on rooftops,
around which vultures swarm.

What is this emptiness?
O show me the answer!
Somewhere in the knowing,
may I find redemption –
as I keep on rowing.

What is this emptiness,
that steals away my nights,
leaves behind tortured dreams?
My sigh, resignation –
Life’s never what it seems.

klm
3/22/25