Empty Chairs, Quiet Hearts

They wake to the sound of an empty home,

A silence that whispers, “You’re on your own.”

The clock ticks loud, the rooms stand still,

A hollow house they cannot fill.

The lunchbox sits where it was left,

A lonely child of love bereft.

A note on the counter, scribbled and torn,

"Work late again, be good till morn."

The door shuts tight as parents depart,

Leaving behind their children’s hearts.

They chase the hours, the world demands,

While little ones yearn for their holding hands.

In the quiet glow of a fading sun,

Homework’s done, but the night’s begun.

Dinner’s a ritual of plates and air,

With seats that sit empty, and no one there.

They wait by the window, the shadows grow tall,

Tracing the shapes that dance on the wall.

Each car that passes, each light that shines,

Brings hope that fades with the ticking time.

But love isn’t absent, it’s just stretched thin,

In the spaces between the chaos within.

Parents strive to provide, to give them more,

While children ache for what was there before.

If only the world could slow its pace,

And grant more moments, more time, more grace.

For in the end, what fills the heart,

Isn’t wealth—it’s the love we impart.