There is a place within a house,
which dwells within my soul somewhere.
Within this place is emptiness.
Pure, vivid, emptiness.
Yes, as depressing as it sounds.
There are no inhabitants.
Not in this place.

Within the house live few,
but creatures nonetheless.
They breathe, they drink,
they celebrate.
They are alive.

But this place, this empty place,
that rests within the house:
there is silence,
so much more overwhelming
than the loudest dancing creature
which laughs within the house.

The silence calls for Hope,
but Hope dare not travel far inside.
It will peek in periodically,
then leave it all behind.