Empty Poem by David Wicks

There's a pit
I call my soul,
That seems a
Bottomless hole
For thoughts and feelings that shatter at the drop.
Happiness and
Freedom lie below,
Sorrow is above,
Of this I know,
With pain and misery residing at the top.
All that they
Ever say
Is for me to
Await the day
That the one for me will magically appear.
But if ever
Should exist the day,
Then here my empty
Soul shan't stay,
But the thought of finding one does not seem near.