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elh Dec 2019
carved from rosewood and once heavily polished,
it now crumbled beneath a mountainous tomb
of collector's items,
stained blankets,
abandoned food,
and stuffed animals from a childhood long gone.
an artifact crucified by material obsession
aching to be reborn.
Sara Kellie May 2019
With leather clad hands
and old plastic sheets
he makes up the reasons
for the people he meets.

They'll feel nothing's wrong
for he sings a sweet song
where false promises are made
with a smile from a blade.

And on a cold knife night
he'll extinguish their light
as they struggle for air,
for their pain
is longer than
the chair.
For seconds in the electric chair.
Jenna Apr 2019
This chair does not get any older
sitting here, it dents with old emotions
no longer still but a swelling embrace
a cushion to my exhaustion
it becomes weary in wait
holding me like my legs can do no more
it resembles your hair in a way
choppy brown and representing age
sometimes I wonder if this chair will
become brand new again
like a new random chance
of good luck that I wish your body
could sustain whilst gazing at you
pondering if you can feel my passive stare

Perhaps it would have been better
to lay with you on your bed
making it a little less lonely
being provided with your warmth
compared to this thin blanket
it was another reminder of how
I cannot feel your body heat against mine
your bed dips a bit more every day
showing your weight, may be a little deeper
though it sings me good night
while squirming in your presence and
the fact this chair is becoming quite uncomfortable

I wonder if I will ever get off it again
waiting for your eyes to peer at me again,
again, to tell me that your leaving now
and the coldness really will settle in
Heidi Franke Apr 2019
So many vacancies. Halls and streets vaped.
No air. No hearts. Vacant lands and souls.
Be a hand.
Be a thread.
Be a source.
Be love.
Be the patience.
The light
     the chair.
where you can invite someone to sit. Spend time.
Where each other can
fill up the world again.
Willingly wise using time.
Fractures will fade
Patches of hope,
Grass
will grow again.
Sweet fragrant spring grass.
Devin Lawrence Feb 2019
I am an empty seat waiting to be filled.
All I want is to be seen and claimed,
Only to be released
Once a better seat is open.
In another life,
You and I,
We sat here for forever.
I gave you support,
And you stayed on me for comfort –
And that was fine with me.


I am the empty seat at the table,
Glanced over, and never heard from.
Louder voices grasp your attention,
While I’m squeaking out for your affection.
The server reaches over me,
You place your bag on me,
Hang your coat on me,
Place your feet on me,
And never before have I felt so important
So please get comfortable
And stay here with me.

I am the empty seat,
Unclaimed and forgotten.
Maybe it was my position or over-eagerness
That repelled you on to the other chairs around.
But at least I can share in the moment –
Quiet beside the table –
And pretend like you wanted me there.

I am your favorite empty chair.
The building is being torn down;
The chairs are being pawned off.
I wait to hear if you want me,
But before long, I’m thrown among the pieces of my friends
And wait until that glorious moment
I’m no longer an empty chair.
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