Empty

Footsteps are echoing down deserted halls:

A school on Sunday – students and teachers

Away, at home, forgetting fears and bothers,

Preparing for the week to come.  The sounds

Of steps from solitary visitor

Resound down quiet corridor, and tell

Just how alone I am.  Each sound made stronger

And still more resonant by empty space

And empty tile.  It seems not right, and yet

It also seems not wrong, somehow, or rather

It feels somehow that this is where I’m meant

To be, in this abandoned, darkened place.

With no one here, I am alone, with just

Myself, my work, and God perhaps for dismal

Company.  I don’t fear the dark, the space,

Or even being alone, and yet the sound

Of my own steps clacking, shuffling down

The hollow halls does chill me in some way.

It is as being at home, when one

You love is not around, away

On some small errand, or on some

Extended journey out of town,

Or even gone for good.  The sounds

Of daily, domestic habits,

Opening, closing doors, taking

Weekly garbage bins to the curb,

Washing dishes, bathing, splashing

In water run from rusty pipes:

Each isolated sound resounds

Through empty rooms, and empty mind.

It is also,

The emptiness

Of brains and hearts

Defeated and

Overloaded

From their routines:

Minds that are tired –

Those that cannot

Process more work,

Problem solving,

Information;

Good hearts that break

From too much love,

That give themselves

To ones who don’t

Understand, and

Beating slowly

Fade as their blood

Cannot be pumped

Or carry its

Load – oxygen and love –

To its members.

Alone,

Drained,

Dying,

Empty.