top of page
Writer's pictureTim Huber

Empty Veins

Cut off

you took your scissors and

shut off

the red rushing rivers of

my blood.


Flowing somewhere

without me.

There’s nothing here

I’m empty.


Cut off

my veins harden and

shut off

the blood-crusted heart that

once loved.


Look out the window

and ask

will the wind blow

behind glass?


Cut off

I took the cleaver and

shut off

the pins and needles of

your touch.


Dried and cut off

finally alone.

Quiet and shut off

I try to atone


for years

of waste and barren hate.

For fears

I made and could not break.


Is there hope

for a paint-trailing zealot

whose soul was sold

before it developed?


Tie up

my heart strands and

pry up

the dark hands that

I loved.

 

Whether they are people, entertainment, or hobbies, we all face negative influences from time to time. The longer we spend in or with these things, the more of ourselves we begin to lose. Over time we are sapped, giving up something personal in exchange for something external—which often affects the internal as well. The result is gradual, often to the point that we hardly notice. Sometimes those near to us will notice long before we do. But I believe we each come to a point where we wonder, “how did I get here?” This question comes with two choices: conviction that leads to change or acceptance of who we are becoming.

In this poem, the narrator seems to be reaching that point. As they contemplate their life, the question is being asked. And, even though they decide to take action, change is not easy or immediate. It takes time, sacrifice, and—more often than not—the help of others. But it can be done. Every day, people make the decision to change. They grow sick of their lives and realize that they can do better, that they want to be better no matter how difficult it seems.

If you find yourself in a similar situation, perhaps tired of living a certain way, contemplate change. The first step may not be dramatic, it may be as simple as asking someone for help or working on a habit. But it can and most often does lead to lasting change if the desire for it is present.

You are likely wondering why there is no art with this poem. Unfortunately, we here at Tableau are experiencing difficulties at the facility. As you may know from the Professor’s notes, the capsule has been opened and can no longer be used to create the usual art. We are working to find an alternative solution, but it will take time. Thank you.

Hope Mixes

—The Translator


4 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Morel

The quiet meadow is his, cool and damp and cushioned, with trees to sleep against and moss along the rocks. Peculiar power has he over...

To One Who Would Write

Simply write And write well All you see and do; Write with words Like magic spells That mesmerize and soothe. Bring forward sword And...

tent of meeting

like dust before a flame my thoughts disintegrate what i had to say is singed smeared on the walls of my skull there is nothing now and...

Comentários


bottom of page