The Void Poem by Mark Earls

There was a time when this house,
Scaled to my size, comfortable,
Was an extension of my self, filled entire by me;
Each room known to me, alone.
Books, poorly sorted like my mind,
Insulating every wall;
Bed, large, unkempt, my refuge
From a world too cold, too empty.


Things change swiftly: a void has opened in this home.
My bed, still large, feels unfilled by me alone,
Seeks a further warmth, a second person to enfold.
My books, not happy merely to be mine,
Hunger for new eyes, new hands, another mind;
They demand another reader, soon.

This void must be appeased;
Must be filled- or joined.