I write into spaces
And talk into holes
Writings are our faces
But words write our souls.

Sometimes I catch glimpses of tiny faces with hollow eyes that I can't see.
Passing at a distance through a nightmare as I sleep.
Their fleeting shadows draw me with them, to a place where lost tears weep,
for the forgotten souls of the missing children for whom desperate parents will always seek.

At the table sat a prawn, a fish, a glass of water, and a watch.
All trying to figure out who had the best hand.
Two out of three games already played.
Tension drawn on all of their faces.
The fish twitches at the river, caught in thought eying the glass of water.
The prawn in constant panic. Eying the fish.
Stuck in the same predicament as the fish. Winning a much larger *** the last hand played.
The fish much larger than he. The prawn folded his hand.
The glass of water over-thinking the endless possibilities of both the prawn and the fish.
Sweat dripping down the side.
The watch on the other hand, had the best poker face of them all.
As time reveals everyones true intentions.
Revealing a slew of faces