Poem: The Empty Places

beachhouse

The Empty Places

In the evening, the wind blows from the sea,
a cool breeze pushing back the warmth of the day.

There is no one here. You can see sand for miles,
and the waves, mild here at the end of the day, rustle.

You have spent years seeking peace, finding it
neither in life or work or love or in spiritual places,

or at least, not for long.

Only snippets.

Moments.

Grasped and then gone

And so you journey. To this place and others. to empty places
you can empty yourself into and they remain unaffected

While you on the other hand, breathe the salt air,
and for a while, disappear.

About this poem. 

I am a lover of empty places. Deserts. Canyons. Dark forests. Beaches in the off season.

Silence is a hard commodity in today’s world. And yet it is the place we hear the important stuff.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom

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