Sans

Sans

Absent is the heart that grows fonder,

And in its place the visceral vanities of my mind

Consume the gaping void that it imparts.

They snake like vines upon these cavern walls

And in the blackness of my hollow breast imbibe

The deep moans of desperation; the calls

That echo symphonic and ruefully alive: harsh

Consonants of longing and despair, not burning

But brooding for the brightness of the day.

For oh, to relish in a vacuum abhorred!

The rush of languish rushing in to fill a hole

Consumes me and condemns me to forget.