Empty Hands

• 09/02/2006
• One-minute read

I write nothing because I feel nothing
But my own ignored truth leads my confession
Of feeling more than I know

My foot taps, my heart beats, and I might just feel everything
My experience and ignorance, together they grow
The cold chill that surrounds me, trails me as close as the shoes on my feet
My thoughts are frozen in place as the chill follows me home
My walking is slow as I crawl down the street
My discovery finds me with a roof, 4 walls, and a standing wet tear
My home is the next gust of wind that I hold in my hands
I look to my fingers and wonder as I wander
Where are the things that I held near?