“The Empty Chair”

I wake beside my empty pillow, hopping to the floor

As if preparing for a wedding,

And part the shielding curtains,

Ready for another single track.


In the business halls,

I wave empty hands searching for a shake,

Yet the rush cannot make time

For mutual exchange.


Little does it matter to me:

I drive my riches down the freed way,

Looking past the empty seat and into the view

Loving every day, each time made new,


Except for the nights I park the silver,

My freedom growing tired,

When I can only sit and part my hair,

Staring at the empty chair.



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