I've encountered lands barren, with nothing, only nothing, you.
I check inside the broken houses, wreathed in rose petals, lying to the passersby: nothing but nothing, any will find. Counting time keeps ticking and ashen hands sifting, hours go in twelves, but our emptiness we cannot undo. Are we the heartless or was your fire long past due. I stare at the sky and wonder, how many seek to carry you; and the limitless times they are engulfed to nothing, by the nothing that is you. Emptiness is painless, depending on its place, it can consume us, and set about flames, reaching at nothing, setting all they touch to look too. Holocaust becomes, all whom wish to find a you.