It’s empty here.

They’re all gone. Left a little at a time.

I’m still here to feel the silence, the stillness of every room.

Community transformed, deformed.


When will you act?

How long before you answer ancient prayer?

It seems cruel to me, but just right to you.

Waiting for them to return.

Longing for teams, groups, pods to fill up spaces.

Renew old energy.

My mind is busy with fantasy while I wait.

The history makes me smile.

Waiting to see.

Or will my answers be for someone else’s eyes?

Will my sight decay in dust with no satisfaction?

Blinded by silence, apply your salve.

Waiting but non-negotiable.

The price of fullness can be too high.

Standing is lonely.

The silence screams years of conflict.

Soon, the settled dust will win, doors closed, rooms locked, no more sound.


It’s empty here!

Published by David B. Smith

Author, podcaster, pastor, and Big Pappa to my grandchildren.

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