Emptiness Poetry Novels & Stories

But, he still agrees apathetically, “Okay…” After that, they both keep they dive into silence and stare blankly at the view in front of them, although there’s really nothing worth seeing. The place they’re at right now is merely the in between, the middle path separating the realms. Nonetheless, everything has long lost their beauty. Buildings’ crumbled and even dreams got purged by hellish fire. Now, it’s only left with its bleak sky and ghostly silence. Neither joy nor choice exist in this middle path. Nothing stays, except time, the only component worth envy because it is merely an illusion in this place. It gives you eternity. An eternity of imprisonment.

The Whisper Before Creation Before the first dawn of the new world, before the first star dared to shine, there was only the hush of anticipation— the quiet inhale the universe takes before becoming real. And in that breath, a whisper. Not a word. Not yet. Just a pulse. A rhythm older than sound, gentler than light, and stronger than time. The Flow was waiting to wake again. --- The Shape of Nothing There was no sky. No space. No edge to stand upon.

Together. And now, all we have left is this: guilt and emptiness. And in this emptiness, I drown. A little more each day. And I know that no one will come to save me. End

Silence. Not the kind I had gotten used to. Not the quiet of the street, or the pause inside the café. This was something deeper. Something absolute. No background noise. No distant movement. No life. Just. Nothing. And yet. It wasn’t empty. I stood still, letting my eyes adjust. The space around me stretched out, but not like a room. There were no walls. No ceiling. No floor I could clearly define. Just lines. Thin. Faint.

I fill it like I fill the breath, like I fill the room, like I fill the night, like I fill the fragile parts of my plans, like I fill the long hours, like I fill, like I fill. The space is empty, and I am. I am. I am. I turn off the phone. I turn off the light. I turn off. The space is empty. I am.

It was at that point that a poem came to mind; “What is this strange feeling called? Like an empty can I feel void of emotions, void of life I feel the silence strangling life off me I want to scream I want to shout But no, The only thing that came out is a noise, not even loud enough to show just how I feel”

“I see effort that never ends. I see maintenance that never stops. I see existence fighting constantly against entropy. Against decay. Against the natural return to nothing. This proves my point. This demonstrates that nothing is superior. This shows existence is exhausting.” “I see emptiness disguised as fullness,” Void said. “I see beings pretending connection matters. Pretending love is real. Pretending meaning exists. But underneath the pretence is void. Is absence. Is nothing wearing a something mask? This proves nothing is true. This proves existence is a lie. This proves erasure is honest.”

The entity expands slightly and Confluence sees more erased moments, all the suffering that existed in those cities before they were taken. “I’m ending that suffering permanently,” the Emptiness continues. “Not by destroying but by compassionately deleting. These people frozen in my preservation, they’re not suffering anymore. They’re not afraid or hurt or desperate. They simply are, suspended in peace.” “They’re not at peace,” Confluence argues. “They don’t exist enough to experience peace. You’re not saving them, you’re erasing them.” “Semantics,” the Emptiness dismisses. “The result is the same. No more suffering. I’m the hero of this story, small confluence. I’m saving existence from its