Act 1
The void of the night,
The void of my life,
The void in my mind,
The void in the noise,
A silent noise.
My heart beats — but anxious,
Sleep escapes my eyes,
Like the coward flees the dangerous,
My life, an echo in the void,
A hollow, greedy vastness,
My life, a path full of hollows,
Settling like a pool of still water.
Days are easy,
Nights are heavy,
By day, the masks hold,
By night, the pain is mine.
Day absorbs the void in noise,
Night — the noise of my mind
Pulls me into its well,
Oh the void…
Oh the night…
Not to think about it,
Easy to say,
Not to worry,
Easy to pretend,
Sweet illusion,
Sweet prison,
Hard is liberation,
Hard is liberation,
Act II
The void absorbs everything,
Like a mad omnivore,
It is a mad omnivore,
Yet by day, emptied of everything,
Flavors,
Colors,
Scents,
Harmonies,
Madness,
Modesty,
Pleasures,
Even pain — sometimes —
Even fear,
Thoughts,
Intentions,
Infatuations,
Misunderstandings,
Pretenses,
Achievements,
Disappointments,
Defamations,
Pressures,
Aspirations,
Competitions,
Discussions,
Reconciliations,
Frustrations,
Devotions,
Exaltations,
Consolations,
Convictions…
The void absorbs everything.
Like a mad omnivore,
A mad omnivore—
And yet, it feeds everything.
Act III
In this greedy void,
On my small yet spacious bed,
I close my eyes,
Welcoming the gentle touch
Of a faint beam of light
Within this darkened space,
The void is not silent.
It does not devour all.
I hear it—
A soft humming,
My laptop softly singing,
A quiet, soothing melody,
A slow tempo,
Fluid transitions without accent,
No sudden shifts,
Only gentle, enveloping sounds,
Refreshing,
Piano and flute whispering,
Nature joins the orchestra,
Birds calling, carefree,
Water flowing,
Hypnotic,
The wind—
Soft, and tender,
For a moment,
A welcoming forest,
A benevolent nature,
A lingering resonance,
Tranquility,
The void, satisfied,
Also soothed by this presence,
Retreating into its essence,
Sufficiency,
The void does not devour everything.
The void
does not
devour
everything.
Author’s Note
There are nights when you feel nothing at all — completely empty. You can’t even find something to think about. It feels as though even sleep escapes you, leaving nothing behind but the void.
At first, this void strips you of everything, even the very sense of your own existence.
This poem was born from one of those nights, when there was nowhere left to hide. It became a way to understand that emptiness — something many people, perhaps everyone, experience without fully realizing it.
It also reflects what helped me find an anchor and slowly come back from that state of mind.
The void is not an enemy. It is a force — neither good nor bad.
A special dedication to anna.
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With clarity,
The Mirror Room
Odel A.
"And yet, it feeds everything." That's where the poem turns. Void as omnivore — terrifying. Void as source — that's a different ontology entirely.