The Empty Heart

What's in my heart is
Emptiness is not joy,
Nor despair,
Nor longing,

When nothing is in your heart,
You do nothing,
Feel nothing.
You are like an empty closet
Waiting to be filled:
With the dress of love, terror, hope,
Whatever might clothe you,
But you're naked in the closet.

I've been here often.
It is the place I find myself when I have nothing to say,
When the future seems eons away,
And the past is a dim memory.

Some people are dying in the world.
I stand like a monument,
Life in stone.
When I try to speak,
There is dust only.

I listen to music,
And the heart is disturbed,
Moved to ring out an eloquent line,
But in silence, the colors drain away,
The image fades,
The stars have stopped in the sky.
There is primordial darkness of the spirit,
Night so ancient, it makes no sound,
Carries no winds or terrors.
This is the silence of my heart now,
As I write this.
These are the wavering ghosts
That flicker in a stone cold heart.

George Chadderdon © 1999