The Empty Ones by Will Treffry
We are the empty ones,
The ones sewn tight with silence,
Huddled in a hush,
Crown stuffed with brittle chaff -
Sadness lives in our spines of sand.
Our shrivelled murmurs,
When they tremble from our lips,
Are hollow and forsaken,
Like wind skimming bones
Of plagued and withered fields,
Or vermin skittering on shattered stone
In the damp oubliette below.
Our vague voices whisper in the dark,
Any notion of sacredness rings hollow.
Fleshless Phantoms, hues without flame -
Apparitions without shadows,
Sunlight passes through our faded forms.
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