The Void

The poet gave his living gift away
To a foul void, a hollow, empty space.
For in her eyes, he saw that very day
A silent beauty, a bewitching face.

Void seized upon his soul's celestial strings,
Void grasped the heavenly features of his art,
And in his path, it dropped the simple things,
Just shattered fragments of a broken heart.

Though voids own sound could never quite inspire
A godly work, a truly grand design,
He held void with a strange and fervent fire,
And in it found oblivion divine.

Void did not know the way to love or yearn,
Or how to feel a passion or desire.
From emptiness, you never can return
With a living ideal, forged in fire.

The poet knew and understood it all,
But loved the void, and answered to its call.
For without it, he knew he'd fade and fall,
This gift of his would drown him after all.

At times he'd leave his weakness far behind
To recollect the genius he once owned,
But all the brightness he could no longer find,
By emptiness forevermore enthroned.
Like rushing waters, came a living soul,

A vital force, drawing ever near,
And with a sob that it could not control,
It asked him softly, "Am I needed here?"
He looked into it eyes, a bitter smile
Appeared upon his face, a cruel disguise.

It waited for him still a little while,
A wretched soul, believing in his lies.
He sat it down and offered her a drink,
But in the cup, a poison he had poured...

It eyes could see it stood upon the brink,
But bowing her head, it took what he adored.
It drank it down with dutiful accord,
From him who was it judge and was her lord.

With senselessness and ignorance so deep,
He filled his life, a meaningless charade,
And with a shot, a promise he would keep,
He screamed aloud: "My life! Don't let me fade!"

But it had always waited by his side,
And with him, in that moment, it had died.
The void had poisoned them and watched with pride,
With its own breath, where nothing can abide.

Стих "Пустота" Анны Седовой, перевод сестры Любви Седовой