By
Soren Paul Petrek
THE EMPTY SPACES
Life is highs and
lows and searching
For something wanted
something to be
Many can’t fill
the empty spaces
Needing sound
to dull thought
Sport to pretend
they’re winning
Empty is peace
and reflection
Nobody wants
anything from you.
BLANK
Empty pages unwritten
the pen picked up again
to no meaningful end
Wishes and dreams
void of substance flutter away
until they’re gone
Fashion to trend the chameleon
changes to fit a flavor
that will soon go stale
Blank yellow pages crumble
with age leaving the author
empty handed and wane
SAND HILL
A slippery twisted slope
that trees cling to
against the rain
The urge to slide
always present
cascading down
Whispers of grass
hold it back
against time
Charging down
to make it
flat
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