Grabbing
a handful of air
You
stare
At
the emptiness within
You
dare
To
imprison that which is free
As
if that which is nothing
For
you
Will
substance form
And
give shape
To
your imaginings
When
nothing
Will
encapsulate
The
pulsing ache
Of
a heart laid bare
And
bereft of forlorn longings
For
nothing can fill
That
void
In
that handful of futile air
Yet
you dare