Solstice (Empty)

New poem.

I wish I had
a forest inside me
speaking only
through leaves and wind,
but I do not.

I wish
the whistle and squeak
of the branches
rubbing together
had been my only
soundtrack from birth,
but it was not.

If only I’d been
filled with ocean
or cave-song
or the howl
of blizzards
in far mountains,
but I was not; instead

I am today as empty
and as silent within
as I have always been,
as always
am waiting
for my own song
to rise from that void

and fill me
and the air
and the sky
and the rest
of this whole 
damned world.