Looting the Void

Pale shadows fall on spaces
long lost to bitter words
and misconceptions, yet
passive movements perpetrate
an audience arresting whispers and
accusations.

The slow, hollow rhythm drains
the bones of warmth, brittle
and without worth, they lay there still.
Lay upon a bed of ash and
desecrated memories forever
ringing out to stitched ears and foreign
eyes.

Lost is the soul that strays
so far from his cocoon,
destined to remain aimless.
Alone with his convictions
decay never parts the side
of one who so desperately
seeks the company of
solitude.