sentient touches hollow,

grates like metal

cutting into glass

and the noise is deafening

when it is neither loud

nor shrills like a banshee.

so why does the wrinkles

appear!

aging this weary face,

though the inside is striving

for illusions falling apart,

the magician’s hat no longer

pops out the rabbit,

wait, wait,

it is there, wriggling about

then it went still, dead.

oh no

thought he

when the audience is looking for another

chuckle, another delight

to take aways the tension

of what is. people feeling nervous

around people, it is there, don’t you see

the sentient prodded at the hollow

whose face bore a grin

a rather silly looking one at that,

but never mind that!

it is besides the point, because the truth is,

ah yes said the prosecutor,

what is truth?

certainly did not help many fallen

now claimed as heroes,

and yet the living touches the hollow,

becomes the void, not the fire

when the dead cannot make more sacrifices,

the living take more, it’s always been that way,

till the mirror shatters

the demon beast flees, hiding

from the sentient that pokes,

prods for … … life

and there is none, just another

ask, for more without giving,

praising saints, dying sinners,

believing that is what sentient means

when hollow has walked the across

the final line