By Igor Goldkind

There's an emptiness at the heart of any compressed space.

The air that fills a dome; an unanswered echo.

There's an emptiness in my heart

That reminds me

All of my ideas are empty.

The floating leaves from a fumbled folder

Flying papers littering the sky.

This emptiness must remind you

How light and flimsy your desires really are,

How gently they fall from the sky to the floor

A confetti of mercy and good intentions.

Shredded emotions that fall at your feet.

They are, in the end, compared to Nothing,

Merely the fleeting litter of  your mind.

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