The Empty Chair

Toiling stops for two weeks.
But the cars are still on the road.
But the earth still rotates.
But the mouth still talks.

Hours are hours and not minutes.
But days and nights still go.
But food and water are still consumed.
But secrets and lies are still hidden.

I do not see you sitting.
But I still read a book.
But I still write a poem.
But I still love my self.




About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Empty Chair

  1. Anita Bacha says:

    Lovely poem
    Self love is the purest form of love

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