empty...as the can of a wizened old beggar who sits by the way side, every single day...waiting, waiting for that morsel of compassion that comes in the form of a few, crooked, old coins..

empty, as the words of a chronic habitual liar who can never figure out which is real and which is not

empty, as the shore side in an out of way place somewhere in the provinces where people have lost their penchant for sea going because the sea has been with them all their lives

empty, as the inkwell that sits by the table of a disillusioned poet, who has given up on everything for lack of inspiration..

empty as i can possibly be...specially after, when all soul has gone, all zest for life has been taken away, never seeming to have even the faintest glimmer of coming back.