Empty

Empty rooms whisper with muted sighs,
Where echoes linger like half‑remembered verses.
Silence settles on the carpet, a pale grey quilt,
Stitching together the seams of what once was.

Chairs stand sentinel, their backs turned to the light,
Tables hold the ghost of coffee rings, faint and fading.
Windows frame a sky that seems to hold its breath,
Waiting for a hand to pull the curtains wide again.

In the hollows of the heart, a quiet cavern yawns,
Echoing the soft thud of footsteps that have long since fled.
Yet within that void, a tender space remains—
A canvas bare, inviting colour, story, hope to seep in.

So we sit with the emptiness, not as loss, but as promise,
A pause between the notes where the music may begin anew.