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S S Apr 2017
The hollow core
Hollowed out some more
By hollow thoughts of a
Hollow mind
A hollow being, a hollow find.

The hollow well
Donns a hollow shell
Wrapped in hollow garb with
Hollow walls
A hollow being, a hollow fall.

The hollow life
Lives through hollow strife
Hoarding close hollow joys
This hollow whole
A hollow being, with hollow goals.

All that's deployed
Pours into the void
Of this hollowed out life
Hollow fills
A heavy soul, sits heavier still.
Rob Sandman Mar 2016
Can you see them?-lookin' for me to be them,
lookin' for my warmth to breath life to them,
the hollow men,yes men,fallow men,come follow men,
no heart no mind-mindsick and eyeblind,
sheep talkin' like wolves that I find,
most despicable-Dis-gusting unpredictable,
following the wind as it blows on their wick they're all
candles in the strong wind gutterin',
snipes from a distance yeah they're all utterin'

Great threats from great hollow chests,
that up close-don't stand inspection,
empty vessels-makin great noise,
hard men behind keyboards hands -poised,
with the poisoned pen ready to dip in the deep well,
of hatred they bring from deep hell's,
inside,a void,avoid if you can please employ-
aversion tactics needed,don't need it,
vampyres that need pyres,yellow they bleed it
Yellow right down to the backbone believe it...


the hollow men,yes men,fallow men,come follow men,
Yes men Hollow men come follow men  
Yes Men-Shallow men come follow men, the hollow men,

The hollow men,yes men,fallow men,come follow men,
Yes men Fallow men come follow men  
Yes Men-Shallow men come follow then
while I tell you bout the Hollow men


Yeah, **** right I can see them.
Trolls in holes. I'm willin' to bleed 'em.
Society's detritis,
..delighted by the slightest sign of weakness.
Bleakness of their lives underlined by the lies they employ..
.. in their contrived..
..cyber sphere.
Scavengin' on carrion.
Peckin' at the carcass. Behind the veil of anonymity.
Sit in darkness as they hammer out calamity.
No nobility or amity. Cyber-highway poison.
I got the remedy.
Hollow husks skulk and lust..
..for coat-tails to ride on. Soon turn to dust.
Rusting hulks their disgusting bulk decaying on the shore.
Soon to be forgotten.
The Yes Men, the Hollow Men, the fallow men.
The everything is borrowed men.
The no tomorrow men.
The follow slowly to the gallows men.

*The Hollow Men, Yes men, fallow men, come follow men.
Yes men, shallow men, come follow men.
Yes men, Hollow Men.
Never follow them. The Hollow Men.
The Hollow Men, Yes men, fallow men, come follow men.
Yes men, shallow men, deal in sorrow men.
Yes men. Don't ever follow them.
A fool strolls to the gallows man.
New Work,just finished, ready to go down on track soon,
but makes a fine poem too, collaboration with the Jay from E.C.
rebeccalouise Nov 2012
sometimes i feel hollow
like i don't have
or blood
or organs
or anything inside

all that i am is a hollow human being

where dread and panic and anxiety
can easily ricochet around,
making me ache from the inside out

it starts with a pang,
where my heart is supposed to be.
and then spreads like wildfire
across my skin,
through my chest,
along my arms
and down my legs.
into the tips of my fingers and toes,
burning my ears
and catching in my throat.
and all that's inside of me is this hurt.

sometimes i feel hollow,
like a lonely, old oak tree
that's been zapped by lightning
one too many times.
he still stands, strong and proud
but electricity tingles
and makes him feel vulnerable
every now and then.

sometimes i feel hollow
and broken up inside

sometimes i feel hollow
like i can hear an echo when i talk,
my words just bounce around
with no purpose or drive

sometimes i feel hollow
like a needle could make me burst

sometimes i feel hollow
like all i am is an empty shell

*sometimes i feel hollow
twelve caesuras Aug 2014
the last train leaves the station at twelve fifty,
and it makes its rounds, and it makes its rounds.
every night, on the train, there is a hollow man
heading into the city to speak hollow words
and to make hollow promises with other hollow humans
(if you pay him enough, that is).
the last train leaves the station at twelve fifty,
and its wheels are turning, and its wheels are turning.

the last train leaves the station at twelve fifty,
and it is near-abandoned, and it is near-abandoned.
every night, on the train, there is a hollow man
gazing out of the window with a melancholy grin
watching the lights rush by like shooting stars,
though his wishes have never come true
(he wishes for the same thing every night on the train).
the last train leaves the station at twelve fifty,
and it disappears into the inky darkness, it disappears.

the hollow man is no one until one AM,
but then he make his rounds, he makes his rounds.
every night, our hollow man gives love by the hour
and with flair, he makes the hideous feel like they aren't,
he loves the loved and the loveless, though he is the former
(he does not discriminate).
the hollow man is no one until one AM,
but then his gears are turning, his gears are turning.

the hollow man is but a lonely shell,
and he is near-abandoned, and he is near-abandoned.
every night, every night, he pumps his veins with gold
he becomes a shooting star, he flies, he does,
but every night he falls, or plummets, rather
(back into his menial abyss).
the hollow man is but a lonely shell,
and he disappears into the inky darkness, he disappears.
Jonah Reden Nov 2015
Hollow centered
Center ****** dry
Gnawing, starving hunger hollow
Hole in gut
Missing piece hollow
Cracked secrets
No feeling, not yet
Numb hollow
Severed chords of silent voice
No sound but own
Inside scream hollow

                      Swell and dip each
                               Rise of chest pulse
                       Pain in ribs
                               Breath too deep to hold
                       Ends empty
                               Sensation hollow

World now given to torture
Stones on torso suffocation
Still manage to exhale
Enough to live hollow

                       Hold in 'til brain
                               Burns fire eyes jagged
                       Red crossed
                               Pupils hollow

Hollow men resurrected
Barren middle road
Silent broken bone breathing
Jordan Bowdren Oct 2018
My neighbors are always changing except for a few.
Those that have found their niche, they like it here

Where the creek is the only music that surrounds us
and the sun is the only alarm clock we need, but it isn’t the only one we receive
The woodland birds play in my branches, I love it when they do

Autumn is when I see more and more of my friends
Those with holes so big families grow and get too old for their own good in them
Broken leaves form pathways from hollow to hollow, where the squirrels and rabbits will trot
at all times finding at least one of us.

Mine was once something I sought to hide
I remember as a sapling when my trunk was getting taller there was a young fox.
The fox would occasionally act rash and hurt me, we’ve all been the fox haven’t we
I was the diary. Pages upon pages of hate were carved, I don’t think they meant to hurt me
I kept growing though, but that part of me was open, broken, dead.

There were springs and summers where I had leaves to offer to everyone
Shade for all the squirrels and for the rabbits and for the fox.
Despite the changes, I kept growing and the other hollows told me they felt that too.
I felt beautiful in the spring, after a few years I felt beautiful in the fall too
A few years after that the leaves became a bonus and the hollow became my joy
What once was my wound is now my mantlepiece.

Through my time I had seen so many baby birds occupy it  
A daughter scared of fire even though she resembles a Phoenix.
Found sanctuary in my heart of wood, flammable yet still I exist.
A son bound to his brain he can’t see past himself. He found binoculars in my hollow saw what was out there and became able to hear all those around him.
Out there is your forest don’t forget about your wings little one
No one is their savior, not me neither is my hollow.

Time escapes me often only when those little ones return is when I see it
That their wings are worn out now but have so many stories in them.
They rest now because they can. Not because they must.
Often times they don’t say a word to me, they look at me the sum of me
They look at my leaves, and my branches, and the twigs under me
They look at the caterpillars cocooning and the young birds poking their beaks into my hollow.
They look at the sun damage on my bark they look at my smile as I breathe in deeply.
They simply look at all of me and I look at all of them

Those birds are gone now their time moves faster than mine I suppose
generations come and go but we hollow tend to stay around even after we die
nothing ever really fills us up and I hope it never does
For what will be the home for those baby birds still learning how to fly even after they left home
Not just the trees but the hallows all around beyond our forest.
The open metal pipe in the swing set in the park
The exhaust pipe of abandoned cars
The sound hole of a broken guitar, the music stopped but there still is home
Home for those who need it most.
Aa Harvey May 2018

I am hollow inside; I am a hollow toy.
I am hollow, I am hollow; I am a hollow boy.
My insides have been destroyed when my love life was broken.
I have no feelings left inside me; I showed them all to you
And you left my heart on a pyre quietly smoking.

I am haunted by your look;
I am lost inside your thoughts.
I am hollow, I am a ghost;
I am the memory of love turned to dust.

Hollow dreams of changing the future;
All we have left is a hope to lose.
All my life I have been surrounded by vultures;
Now I can’t have love, what do I have left to choose?

There is nothing left to lose,
When there is nothing left to love.
So give me something to make me feel better;
Any kind of drug.

(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Äŧül May 2017
There are few bottlebrush trees here,
A couple grew in front of our house,
The entrance to our house they guard.

When it is season for them,
They bloom very lavishly,
Even striking is one's stem.

It was pecked upon by a woodpecker,
Thak-Thak-Thak, Thak-Thak-Thak,
The stem's bark finally gave away slowly.

By the end of October '06,
The hollow was readied,
The woodpecker moved in.

It gave shelter to the two birds initially,
The male & the female woodpeckers,
They stayed there for a complete season.

Saw their family grow,
From just the parents,
It even had chicks now.

The chicks grew fast under parental care,
I even listened to their infant chirping,
Saw the parents flying to get forage not so rare.

Then one day a snake slithered,
Until that hollow, it climbed,
The woodpeckers made a lot of noise.

They both screeched repeatedly,
But their cries were useless,
They could not scare away the snake.

The serpent then came out after few hours,
Now the crawling was sluggishly lazy,
Its mouth smeared with gooey young feathers.

The family had been destroyed,
An eerie silence shrouded the hollow,
The woodpecker chicks were dead.

Soon, an eagle had hunted the snake,
Hovering in the sky it spotted it,
Grabbed it when in the sunlight it basked.

Now the woodpeckers were gone,
Probably in search of a new tree,
A new tree where a snake won't come.

As for the tree's hollow,
It made a new home,
For a parrot species this time.

And time knows that change will descend,
Even the parrots will desert the hollow,
They will leave in search of the better greens.

Maybe a family of owls will come in the end,
It will be a long-time home, the hollow,
For owls are known to fill all the vacancies.
We live in a research institute campus since my infancy where I have been always so close to mother nature and I can chronicle the various avian species spotted here.

I guess that's life.

Give and take.

Like the birds in the hollow provide the tree with nutrients through their droppings.

But I wonder when I will be rewarded for my share of the good deeds done in life.

Karma is a *****.

My HP Poem #1526
©Atul Kaushal
Kaylee D Mackey Nov 2010
sometimes i wonder if it's something in the air
it's killing me
sometimes i wonder and it's got me running scared
i'm dying

this understanding's not making any sense
the gravitation is keeping me suppressed
i'm falling

i'm not sure i can withstand another day
i'm having trouble enjoying the games you play
i'm dying

sometimes i wonder if it's something in the air
sometimes i wonder and it's got me running scared

i feel so hollow
i feel so empty inside
breathe your life into me
make me feel alive
i feel so hollow

i want to scream but i have no voice to use
between a real life and a hell you make me choose
you're lying

i feel so hollow
i feel so empty inside
breathe your life into me
will you make me feel alive
cause i feel so hollow
i feel so trapped in my mind
break the chains
set me free
please make me feel alive

i want to scream
but i cannot breathe
i want to live
i'm suffocating
i want to stay
you're killing me
i want to die
you're suffocating me

i feel so hollow
i feel so empty inside
breathe your life into me
will you make me feel alive?
i feel so hollow
i am so trapped in your mind
i cannot break free
i want to be alive
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

      A penny for the Old Guy


We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.


Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom


This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.


The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We ***** together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.


Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
Rockie Aug 2015
Hollow man,
Weak man,
Stupid man made of flesh and doubt,
Silly man, don't do that,

Hollow man,
Home man,
Choke man with rope around neck,
Finally man, please get down,

*Hollow man,
Hollow man,
Come close quick,
Hey man, you hollow man,
Feel the pain again!
Robert Guerrero Feb 2013
A hollow chest
A hollow mind
Where your name echoes
A hollow sense of being

In the end
I would rather
Face the world
Go out in a blaze of glory

Im not afraid to die
Im not afraid to say goodbye
To all those who helped
To make me hollow

A hollow chest
A hollow mind
Where your whispers shatter walls
Built so thick and tall

In the end
I will still be nothing
A nobody that barely survived
Forgotten so easily

Here in this world
Im not afraid to die
Im not afraid to say goodbye
To all of you and fade away
Jason Cole May 2015
when darkness falls upon my death
this heart is reaped
head laid to rest
do not weep
nor steep regret
you mustn't grieve a hollow chest

the calling of a soul to shed
all mortal sheaths
and specious breath
divinely deemed
a doom beset
by shadows of a hollow chest

as darkness breathes within our breast
our spirit clings
to walls of death
a light bereft
imprisoned by a hollow chest

there's a certain song that's wept
within the halls
of sacrament
grief begone
and faith beget
freedom from a hollow chest
Scot Powers Oct 2013
Alone in the hollow
the mist settles in
hair begins arising
first pangs of fear

snap goes a twig
just to your left
keenly you listen
dare not a breath

you search for a reason
around and within
why your so startled
quaking within

you laugh off the feelings
putting them out of mind
and then you move forward
along a broken fence line

decrepit and abandoned
this lonely old road
through Jacobs hollow
slowly you go

a soft gurgling noise
penetrates the night
a sliver of moon
casts a grim light

never should have come
to yourself you do say
I should have waited
for the light of day

another twig snaps
this time to your right
looking all around
nothing in sight

you dart to the left
expecting the worse
when a fawn erupts
from the woods by the trail

you laugh to your self
what a fool you have been
shake yourself off
strike forth once again

the covered bridge lies
a short distance away
marking the point
half the distance
has been made

Oh just to be home
safe in your bed
but the legend of the hollow
just had to be dared

a cackling laugh
carried by the wind
opens your eyes
startles again

a light in the entrance
of the covered bridge
flickering slowly
making shadows dance

you catch a slight movement
out of the corner of your eye
there in the shadows
you can see the eye shine

the gurgling sound
again yet much nearer
settles in your mind
now blank with fear

the shadow it lunges
at you from its lair
backwards you scramble
screaming in fear

running away
as fast as you can
you should not have ventured
this night on the land

a feast for the beast
now you will become
if you can not make it
out of the hollow

a quarter mile to go
screaming you sprint
escaping the clutches
on this you are bent

at last you've arrived
not a second to soon
as the beast jumped
it was dissolved by the moon

You cry out a thanks
there on the ground
dust your self off
and settle on your way

home where it's safe
never again will you go
to Jacobs hollow
alone in the fall
I can't stand the way he lies there.
I know he hears my sad, sweet songs
playing miles away.
And I know who's on his mind.
I know what clouds his eyes.
I understand, I understand.
And I've been there with the heart loud in your ears,
and the hands that refuse to steady.
But he's too young.

Hollow eyes, you eat me alive.
I'm swept into your emptiness,
I can't survive.
I'm surrounded by these hollow eyes,
eating at my soul, trapping me in the dark;
tell me how to be fulfilling,
not that you'd know.

I hate that look I keep getting.
When the universe shone back at me, and I was complete.
Now they're empty.
And they're still dark, but without the light that the cosmos provides.
Such hollow, hollow eyes.

Hollow eyes, words stripped bare.
Pretend I don't notice, pretend I don't care.
Be fulfilling, I understand.
I understand; no I don't.
These hollow eyes have become my own.

They've become my own.
mark john junor Nov 2013
the hollow man come calling
his crown of fig leaves
is tinged brown with decay
he carries a scent of late fall
and the woodsmoke of homestead cookfires
he bears with him a satchel made of skin
inside are the measures of madness
and the tools of his craft
he comes calling
to your door
sit with him at you table of plenty
and let him feast at his leasure
let him bide his time
and take his rest upon your finest linens
give him your silk shirt
and your skilled leather boot
fore this hollow man is one
who's displeasure you care not to seek
the hollow man come calling
to the headstone and the friars chapel
the hollow man and his empty echo of words
speaks in pig latin
foretelling all and yet nothing
his cold touch is bone thin
and he leaves behind a
letter handwritten on parchment
that smells faintly of bandages and
a metallic cinnamon
the letter gives the day and hour of your passing
and the ultimate meaning of your life
the cost of all the things you accomplished
and the regrets of all thouse you have loved
the hollow man
is waiting
for each of us
with a letter addressed to each
he is but a delivery boy
for the inevitable
a day late and a dollar short for this poem some might say, but i was waiting for the hollow man, and he is running late
Jade Melrose Apr 2014
That hollow feeling when every things over
That hollow feeling when every things gone
That hollow feeling when theres nothing you can do
Oh, how well I know
that hollow feeling.
Allesha Eman Mar 2018
Somewhere in the sea of turquoise
I was lost in a boat made of my dreams
If you ever wanted to find me
Then I’d be hiding in the hollow shadows of the free

I’d be in the smile of a survivor
The tears of a lover
The hopes of a dreamer
Maybe even in the lies of a believer

Somewhere by the rattling earth
Or floating in the seven seas
But I’ll be where love goes
When you’ll be looking for me

So if you ever try to find me
I’ll be in the places you’ll never see
The places where your eyes will miss
But your heart will be set free

I’ll be in your laugh
Or maybe in your dreams
Where ever I am just know
Somewhere in the hollow shadows
I’m waiting to be seen
Make my life a hollow reed
That will bend now in stormy breeze
For in numbers I find my strength
Beneath the willow tree

Make my life like the rock
Piled high upon , top to top
A stonewall that runs for miles
Around my lands it stands

Make my life short and sweet
Give me peace not dire defeat
Give me love and woman's sigh
Amidst the clovered fields

Make my life a Godly song
One that knows right from wrong
With wisdon as old as stars
I'll dance inside the fire

Make my life to unfold
I am tired , my shoes have holes
My dreams are seeds cast to the wind
And just the husk remains

Make my life now come to end
It's my time to propend
I'll walk among the ghost's remains
And willingly I quote

Hollow reeds will bend not break
Holow reeds will not forsake
Of hollow reeds my death bed make
And lie amongst the stars
WS Warner Oct 2011
Static, memories
Emanating, separating  
The postcard- perfect
Still life speaks
From its storied past.
Invisible, to drift
The florid aphorisms,
Ending in
Deleterious debris,
Aftermath of
The inevitable.

Empty room, echo hollow
Tabula rasa -
Carpet clean, quite candid in it's
Return to callow.
Consciousness athirst,
Absorbing phenomena
Effervesce, inquisitive
Ideas foment,
Sealed inside a question.
The what -
Against the narrow
And fatigue of should.

A tender malleable
Betrayed, under
An assumed decorum -
Residue of truth,
Flattened emotion
Privations of a self
Misplaced affirmation,
Buried pathologies  
In architecture
Fear manifests symbolic.

Harboring apathy
The lunacy of pious
Import contagion,
Fetters of benignity
Doubt and indecision  
Into ******
Fallow spirits
Seep fumes of decay,
Credulity bleeds a human stain.

Social edifice, inoculated  
Heirs of neurosis;
Palpable, sensual pain
And transience, though
Tacit - remain,
Our haunted history,
The blind hyperbole,
Forbearance, this haven,
A portrait
Of immaculate condition,
Nurtured with precision
Under sterling pretense.

Provincial domicile -
House beautiful,
Savage irony -
Unseen treasure
Innocence unabridged,
Faces, tiny creations;
Compliant vessels
While modernism murmurs  
Its promise.

Brave New World,
In a late model sedan,
Domestic ranch on a
Corner lot,
Suburban natives,
Silence means security.
The misunderstood
Speak louder -
Consumerism beneath    
Unvarnished ambition,
Never could
Repair the brokenness within...

© 2011 & 2018 W. S. Warner
Right here,
In this hollow bed

From weary eyes, these tears are  shed.
Nothing of joy and loneliness  bred.
A torn body, here lay out  spread.
Wondering where every dream has  led

Right here,
In this hollow bed.

From exhausted thoughts, here I rest my  head.
Nothing of candor and engulfed in  dread.
A torn spirit, whose faith seem only a  thread.
Wondering how much more may lay  ahead.

Right here,
In this hollow bed.

From countless cries, here reflection  imbed.
Nothing of remorse and words  unsaid.
An aching heart, this love  embed.
Wondering how long till the day we  wed.

Right here,
**In this hollow bed
Sorry about the dark love poems, dont read too much into it.
It ***** I know, just really miss my girl and each day is harder and harder, this is kinda how I deal with it right now, so. . . take it or leave it really
There wasn’t much left of the woods out there
By the time that they built the town,
Only a dozen square miles or so
For the rest had been cut down,
They’d fenced it off for a sanctuary
For animals large and small,
So nobody knew the hollow tree,
They hadn’t been there at all.

But I would go, and I’d climb the fence
When nobody was around,
And run right into the undergrowth
To feel my feet on the ground,
I’d disappear within the trees
Just yards from the boundary fence,
The leaves were thick on the path I’d pick
Where the trees were not so dense.

The woods were a magical fairyland
Where the sun speckled through the leaves,
It painted patterns of light and sound
When the treetops waved in the breeze,
And rabbits scurried across my path
As birds would twitter above,
Warning the deer of an ancient fear
That man never showed them love.

But I was sped on the wings of life
Away from the brooding eaves,
Away from the factories of strife
On a carpet of Autumn leaves,
I must have travelled a mile and a half
When I lifted my eyes to see,
The central bole of a Red Gum hole,
In the heart of an ancient tree.

It must have been twenty feet across
And more than a hundred round,
It ruled the place in a state of grace
Stood proudly on hallowed ground,
I caught my breath at its majesty
And approached the tree in awe,
Then slowly entered the hollow trunk
Through an archway, set like a door.

My eyes grew used to the gloom in there
When a voice said, ‘Don’t you knock?’
And there was a girl in the corner sat
In a plain and simple frock.
Her hair was fair and was tied right back
And her cheek was pale to see,
Her needle poised on a piece of quilt
With some strange embroidery.

I stood and stared in a state of shock,
Unable to breathe a word,
For standing guard on her shoulder was
A black and stately bird,
It cocked its head and it looked at me
With a bright, unblinking eye,
‘Are you the one who will set me free?’
She asked, in a drawn out sigh.

The bird had opened its beak just then
And let out an evil caw,
It sat there in a threatening stance
As I backed away to the door.
‘How do I set you free,’ I said
‘I didn’t know you were here!’
‘I’ve been enslaved in this awful cave
For the best part of a year.’

‘I have to finish the magic quilt
And there’s just one thread to go,
They sentenced me for my sense of guilt
And the sapphire ring I stole.
I threw the ring in the crystal stream
That babbles over the ground,
The bird is waiting the ring’s return
And won’t leave ‘til it’s found.’

The stream was merely a chain away
With a shallow, rocky bed.
I went there, skimming the surface where
It lay, the girl had said,
I saw a glitter among the stones
Reached down, and plucked the ring,
Then made my way to the hollow tree
Where I heard her, muttering.

The bird flew off from her shoulder, and
It snatched the ring from me,
Gripped it tight in its blue-black beak
And it flew from tree to tree.
I turned my eyes to the place she’d been
But the walls and the floor were bare,
There wasn’t a sign of the magic quilt
And the girl, she wasn’t there.

The woods are a magical fairyland
Where the sun speckles through the leaves,
And paints its patterns of light and sound
When the treetops wave in the breeze,
Where nature casts a spell on the mind
Of the one who dares, like me,
To scale the fence, and seek to find
The bole of the hollow tree.

David Lewis Paget
Shylah S May 2015
Some go in search
thinking they have no other forms
for hollow happiness

yet they are surrounded
by the beauty and "happy"
yet they search
for hollow happiness

when will this
unsustainable quest end?
Only sentenced to the worst
a never-ending battle
for hollow happiness

So maybe its time to open your eyes

stop being so blind to this beautiful world

and find real happiness.
Little rant of the day.
Weathered and ragged and flaking away,
Ageless, majestic, for day after day,
Haven for robins and the honeybee,
This is the bark of an old hollow tree.

A suit of cracked armor letting rain in,
Lifeless and cold, hardened like calloused skin,
Home and shelter where squirrels can flee,
This is the bark of an old hollow tree.

Vestigial barrier to bygone rings,
Same as it’s been, now for so many springs,
All that is left of its great pedigree,
This is the bark of an old hollow tree.

A trunk withered down and dead from inside,
That empty space, where owls now reside,
Inside those walls there’s still reason to be,
This is the bark of an old hollow tree.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at
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Just Me R Dec 2016
Hollow EYES see nothing
A hollow HEART stops beating
A hollow SOUL is unfilled
A hollow BEING is dead
Krusty Aranda Feb 2012
Words are hollow.
Eyes are deceiving.
Thoughts are far fetched.
Illusions are broken.
Looks mean nothing.
Expressions can be fake.
Emotions are assassins.
Senses don't work.
Heart stops beating.
Light turns into darkness.
Does this mean I am dead?
You think you know me.
I think I know you.
We know nothing
As we move forward
Slouched in our office chairs of despair
Some moving full throttle, the others stay still
All in the same place
All at the same level
The illusion of movement
Competitiveness run amok and awry
An experiment gone wrong
An experiment in our endless longing, our search
Our eventual journey
As we seek greatness and perfection
While shattering the thought of it.

We have been taught to question
Questions bring greatness
Greatness is what we long for

Greatness has been subjugated
No longer an aspiration, but a trade
Not a product of inspiration
But a product of greed

Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead

What once was an abstract concept
Is now concrete
And invisible
A black hole
Constructed from the shattered hopes and dreams
Of millenials and those who felt like we do throughout history

What does "millenial" mean anyway?
In every context it encapsulates

Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead
And we killed it

We dealt the death blow.

We lack heart
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with greatness
Greatness comes from accomplishments
Accomplishments come from knowledge
Knowledge comes from aspiration
Aspiration comes from inspiration
comes from the metaphysical heart

The hollow men had no soul
and neither do we

We lean together
We do not embrace
We do not take the next steps
Only leaning
We lack what we need to see it through

We are incapable of maintaining relationships.
For our stamina is gone
In its place, divorce, infidelity,
relationships based on looks and dreams
dreams of perfection
based on the wrong definition

We are the hollow men

We are hollow
We are... despairing

why would we despair?
if we did not care?
are we then hollow?
if we worry,
is that not out of concern?
is concern
not out of love?
does love...
not stem from the heart?

Sometimes I wonder
Can you still have a heart
If you have a mind in the way?
I myself am a huge fan of The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot.
My use of the term "greatness" mocks speakers like Jordan Belfort, who claim that they have risen to it.
My use of the line "Art Is Dead" references the song of the same name by Bo Burnham. It's brilliant, and I would suggest you check it out. The line "You think you know me" references Bo's song/piece "We Think We Know You," as well.

This poem was written 'all at once,' meaning that there were no edits made. This was simply my stream of consciousness.
Shofi Ahmed Apr 2017
Just a dew drop, let alone the sea,
and a handful of earth, not the Planet Ge.
Not a shade of blue, save the rose for bee
Purely a clear drop didn’t spill in the core,
because the whole sphere feels the pinch.

Singing chorus rains down, bouncing back
to earth the only open-through planet.
No black hole is as deep as the sun jumps,
dives in the dew on every flower they wet.
Every bird in the trees sings and tweets,
yet one is stone quiet, shouldn’t even hiss.
Shh! shh, the sleeping beauty is sleeping!

Cut above the rest, the unique earth
brimming with the infinite finishing line
by design pans out to the transcended pi.
Pure spring, the waterfront by the Moon,
untouched, unspoiled is her swimming pool.

How she goes by, wetting her ****** toe
Only to bubble high up the transcended circle
If only the sun could rise high in that pole,
for the rest of species could sneak a peek.
She’s there with the capstone of the pyramid!

Shots beyond the fixed circle, netting the eyeballs.
The stars, the Moon on the move for pure freedom.
The thrilled earth did come out, smelling of roses
Off the golden cut pi-decimal-abyss digital spring.
With a handful of earth and a drop of water dew
This is a pure mirroring thanks to the original, you!

At the end of the string apt you lovely took her by hand
and she took it in emptying her heart and soul.
Earth is now too thin on stock, she is no more
Just a shadow, a 360-degree hollow flute!
Oh light at the end of the tunnel shine and show
Play in like in the Night of Ascension once more!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
listen -
hear no sound, feel
only wind on its way, ghostly
nothings, but hush to sharp wings
of ocean birds so fraying as they cut
the sky, shuttle to fairways, far aways,
in plaintive cries, i hear what they say,
sailing into the jeweled skylights, but i
am only weight of air, still on ground,
i mumble out, sidle the bone tides
that roll to land, grains of clarity,
i am mist and tear, a world
of hollow, i am that sound -
of ocean in a shell.
Rosaline Moray Jul 2013
There are no words to describe
The Hollow
That could be considered musical,
The Hollow:
No words harsh enough to describe it,
Everything is bland
In The Hollow.
The Hollow is the pressure in my skull
And your skull,
If you feel it.
It's the place that surrounds my heart -
It amplifies the beating,
Like a drum.
It is
What proves I am alive and what
Shows me how little it would take
To die.
The Hollow is the non-stop crying that they all call
And pointless.
They don't get it,
I don't get it.
There really is nothing to understand.
Because that's all it is,
The Hollow.
It's empty.
It's nothing.
It's constantly looking for something
But it's always coming up short.
It's always trying to be something
And then, learning that it's a lot,
Than that.
And that all your efforts are void.
And your whole life is
Hollow out a pumpkin
Hollow out my soul
Scoop out the insides of a pumpkin
Scoop out the inside of my soul

Thin ice covers my body
Thin ice covers my soul
Outside of myself
Outside of my soul

Cavities, devoid of truth
Sunken, reverberating footsteps
Echo hollowly
Emptiness, devoid of even emotion

A void between hollow valleys
Spacious sepulchral sound
Deeply indented
In my hollow soul.
James Bakas Oct 2013
Hollow inside I'm soo alone
Death awaits me for his throne
Ripped from myself as I drift away
This prison I've created is where I stay.

Isolated from within
As I struggle to begin
Your voice, your name is what I hear
The pain and suffering is what I fear.

You can try to pull me out
Pull me from this blackened drought
It takes me deep, forces its hand
Splits me apart, strand by strand.

Your voice I still hear, it calls to me
Your voice I hear it cannot be
So far away I've lost my grip
My reality now begins to rip.

They say loves amazing, wonderful and sweet
I say it's hell raising, painful and cheep
But hollow as I am I cannot feel
Not even a kiss could seal this deal.

Ha! I laugh at those who say
I gaze upon those who pray
For the one their soul needs
For the one my soul feeds.

Have a guess just who I am!
Come on try its no scam!
I was your one, the one you loved!
The one you look to, the one above!

Now I'm hollow, empty and alone
You remember death and his throne
For now I sit at this treasure
Death is now my only pleasure.

This wasn't me for only you know
I was yours as I bestow
I wish for you not to follow
My love gone my body hollow.
Pretty much exactly how I feel :/
Jonathan Polivka May 2017
The absence of all that is known,
Grown into what is unbelievable.
A formation of unwanted intregue.
The complete hollow space.

A reaction of interests that collide,
Abiding in a land that is disregarded.
A constellation of the speechless.
The beginning of hollow space.

The beautiful submission to deception,
Creatively kidnapping every longing eye.
A motionless gaze at the forming power.
The display of hollow space.

Still echoes of mundane murmurs,
Snaring every ear that venters past truth.  
Creating a progression of purposeful noise.
A sound of hollow space.

Then the break.
Mass outbreak with no breakout.
A breakdown in planned peace.

Without a blink
All mater sinks,
Swirled in an array of devastation.
Pure drastic expression of loss.

The twist of time,
Only explained by the screams,
Only shown by the tears,
Only felt by the pain.

A new example of captured chaos,
A planned out persecution.
Ensnaring the ones interested,
Leaving them as a tool for terror.
Consuming the oblivious,
Leaving them searching for answers.
Victimizing the innocent,
Leading them to a slow drawn out death.

A hole of costly deception.
Grabbing all attention,
Then swallowing all lives.
Leaving a silent space.
A space of hollow cost.
Will Dec 2017
-Hollow Words, Hollow Men
They say people like us
are lazy,
that­ we will not go anywhere.
But, what deftly matters
is you
and i
and us
and maybe nobody at all.
And yet, the words that appear,
they flock to our ears
like so many geese
on a hot summer's day
or a array of battleships preparing
for an artillery barrage
on our inner inhibitions
and yet they still mean nothing;
not to anyone
nobody but themselves
if you look deep inside
all that matters is in the self.
Umi Feb 2018
With nails in hand,
As sharp as knifes, reflecting the dim light of a lamp from the ceiling.
A thought rushing through my head, no actions follow.
Hollow, is the lamp which is about to go out soon enough
Hollow, it is when no body is around and when people gather.
It doesn't matter, not its surroundings, not its use, it remains the same
Without ever changing, wether shining or not it is hollow.
Nails, as sharp as little knifes, could pierce through it carelessly
It wouldn't matter, it would remain the same, it would be hollow.
The difference, relies in the possibility of it not being able to shine
Shine out the light, which people are desiring to have in this room.
It simply would be thrown away, replaced and forgotten.
And it wouldn't be questioned, what the nail had done it for.
Overseen, the lamp remains the same after all.

~  Umi

— The End —