Hollow Choir

Hollow Choir

We walk in crowds, yet speak in sighs,

Our smiles rehearsed, our laughter lies.

Beneath the noise, a deeper moan—

A thousand voices, all alone.

We greet with grace, we raise our glass,

Yet ghosts are all who gently pass.

No questions asked, no truths confessed,

Just silence dressed in Sunday best.

A friend once said, “I’m fine,” and smiled,

But I could hear the orphaned child

Within his chest, still asking why

The ones who loved him let him cry.

We chase the light, avoid the night,

But fear the mirror’s honest sight.

For there, behind our practiced face,

We glimpse a vast, uncharted space.

What fills a life if not the soul?

If not a dream, then what the goal?

We stack our days like brittle bones,

And wonder why we feel alone.

We scroll, we swipe, we fill the feed,

But starve for one sincere word, one need.

We dance on stages made of glass,

And fall in silence when it cracks.

Some wear their voids like grand parade,

With pride in pain they won’t evade.

While others drown in quiet rooms,

Entombed in breathless, wordless tombs.

Yet still we sing, with mouths gone dry,

A hollow choir to the sky.

Hoping someone, somehow, hears—

And fills the space we’ve kept for years.