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there are two kinds of emptiness - poems by lydia strohfeldt

there are two kinds of emptiness

One means space

falling over itself

to stretch out,


and build.

The other

is when something

has been taken away,

scooped out,



I have come to realise

that one day

we will be nothing more

than loose change,

clinking at the back

of someone’s memory.


Four tiny walls are not enough

to keep their scene playing

when the characters

are always searching

for new roles.

Yet we are racing against time

while they waltz with it

to a beat they will still feel

when we no longer find it

in our chests.


Why on earth

do we make teacups

out of porcelain?

Must we be reminded

how every day

can s h a t t e r?

Did someone forget

even mundane tasks

can crack?

When will we accept

that all survival

is fragile?


There are pressure points

between now

and moments from my past,

that loneliness can find

within seconds.


Some people don’t realise:

they haunt their own words,

they leave unfinished business

in every promise they can’t keep,

they make ghosts out of

I love you

after leaving it for dead.

1 Comment

Feb 25, 2021


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