The Hollow Of Want Poem by Donald Dunbar

I have walked
through the shadows
of life's empty corridors
where silence weighs more than memory.

I moved mountains
for a mirror
and scraps of affection
like a beggar feeding on echoes,
starving for something soft
in a world made of stone.

Love,
so arrogant,
left a crater in my chest.
He vanished
left me
to be pieced together
by strangers wearing
pity like perfume.

Some guided.
Some nurtured.
Some saw through me
like glass
but many
left breadcrumbs laced with ridicule,
played kindness
as a trick of light.

And still
I've always known
what real love feels like:
smooth, effortless,
dangerously real.
But when you show it,
they flee
as if comfort were a curse
and being seen
a threat.

Four decades
I have walked this fire.
I patched the void with ash and iron.
To fill what was taken by neglect,
it took losing
everything:
my name,
my legacy,
a daughter I never got to touch.

I have worn arrogance
like armor.
I have wielded anger
like a god's last tool.
Not to destroy
but to exist.

Now,
with scars as scripture,
I see.
Reality
a theater of selfishness
masquerading as truth.
Not authentic.
Not holy.
Just
bare.
Cold.
Unfeeling.

And I
I look back
at all I built
out of spite.
Victory forged
not in joy,
but in fear
of being left behind.

All I ever wanted
was to walk in love's light,
to be set free
in something
pure

But fairytales
were never written for the wounded.
Love
is a weapon
when held in the wrong hands.

I gave them truth
they ran.
Back to pain.
Back to the lie.

Maybe
I should wear the mask.
Stop seeing too much.
Take
without asking.
At least then
I wouldn't leave empty.

I do not care for gold,
or houses,
or thrones.

Give me
a heart
that knows how to smile.
Give me peace
that doesn't need
an audience.