Hollow World
by Lisa Wooley

In the temple of disbelief the decomposing spirits recombine to live a new death

Indifferently and mechanically as the jack of hearts in slumber

Wondering if the stony faces will awaken and realize the depth of their slavery

Pretending to be free with no place to go but into the shadows of guilt and shame

Their vague remembrance of a conscience brought them here hoping to feel life once again

But the cold has pierced their stony hearts and there they lay frozen at the place and time when they died

Now they wander aimlessly with only the words of the past to rotely memorize

Past the homeless and disfigured humbled and accepting

Past the poets and musicians constantly reflecting

Past the philosophic open questioning truth seekers

Past the celebrating children with their bright and clear receivers

Looking for a new car a new house another toy to fill the void of disillusion

They gather up more things for their impoverished soul transfusion

As they chitter chatter to pass away the day no will remember a word that they will say

Words of empty meaning of gossip and disdain abundant vacant words of dust to hide away the pain

long ago abandoned to seek the depths of their souls worrying too much about who and what they know

Stifling the spirit of their lively joyous fun exuberance is pain to the de-composing ones.
 

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