VOID:

An echoing of silence, where your voice once lingered,

Your unfinished book, with its pages once well fingered,

Your toothbrush missing on shelf, leaving mine all alone,

The loud ticking of the clock, that has now lost its tone,

Chair-scraped silences, where words were once spoken,

The old worn boots scuffed & with buckle long broken,

The sheets unused, of the now un-crumpled cold bed,

Lingering perfume on pillow, where you once lay your head,

Wine in your glass, left & untouched, by your now vacant lips,

Your echoing footsteps I can hear, as my old mind now slips,

The slow emptiness of your absence, is my hard & bitter pill,

As I sit quietly mantled in my void, just listening to the still.