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.
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