Distance

A mad recluse,

tamed only

by his unbridled

mind.

Times change,

people drift away

Distance is

a natural law

We never learned

to question.

In quiet rooms

The heart beats

Like the freezing

rain pounding

endlessly against

his windowsill.

Reminding him

that even the smallest

rhythmic sounds

are arguments

against oblivion.

Cobwebs melt silently

into memories

and plastic dreams.

Proof that the past

never truly dies

It just rearranges itself

into softer, yielding,

shapes...

more bearable

so, we can

finally touch them.

Upon the wooden shelves

the fires burn, smoldering

into a smoky afterglow.

A final lesson

In how all things

choose their own way

of disappearing.

Everything

becomes part

of the emptiness

Not just a void,

but a vast interior field

where meaning waits

to be named again.

He alone

now knows

that emptiness

is not the

absence of life

it’s the space

where life reveals

itself in its truest form.

Waiting to be reborn

It is a clearing

not death,

nor despair,

but generative.