Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Sunday, March 3, 2013


"The Hollow Men" by T.S. Eliot, image source

 A hollow man
With hollow eyes
No one hears
His hollow cries
Though it still beats
His heart is dead
His hollow veins
Have all been bled
His hollow chest
 Just cannot hold
The warmth for love
He’s vacant, cold
His hollow mind
Tries to erase
That he has nothing
To embrace
His hollow fists
Clutch empty air
But he can’t really
Seem to care
His hollow head
Holds just one thought
His hollow life
Has come to naught
And as he takes
A hollow breath
Alone he dies
A hollow death.

submitted for Poetry Pantry, 140, at Poets United


Kathe W. said...

I wouldn't want to be that hollow man...very sad...and they are out there

Brian Miller said...

dang....what a sad reality...gosh....even sadder knowing that it is all so real....the repetition is haunting....

Mary said...

Oh, this is so sad...I think of a person who has perhaps lived a decent life, but at the end he is very much alone. I have a feeling that this poem fits many. Well written.

alan1704 said...

I love the picture thus paints, its flow, just like a stream

Sherry Blue Sky said...

The repetition of the word hollow is so effective in underlining his plight. Really great write, lolamouse!

Kim Nelson said...

Not typically a fan of repetition of single words, I am bowled over by this poem. Rather than overusing, you recreate. Great job!

Wolfsrosebud said...

i liked the movement in this.... almost song-like

nene said...

I echo (pun intended) every ones comments.

The repetition made the 'hollow' sound.

Good twist, mi amiga.

Brianna said...

Very well done with the rhythm and repetition, quite beautiful!