Full of Empty

The clock ticks loudly, in the hall,
it holds her battered mind in thrall,
She feels the need to scream or bawl,
in this house, full of empty.

She turns on lights and wanders ‘round,
shifts a chair, to hear the sound,
feels lost, on this common ground,
in this house, full of empty.

The cat is hiding; must have sensed,
Sanity, no longer fenced;
everything is so condensed,
in this house, full of empty.

A hockey stick, a football boot,
discarded recklessly, on route;
tell the story, yet are mute,
in this house, full of empty.

A mirror, spitefully reflects
a furrowed brow and then detects
the weekend sadness, that infects,
in this house, full of empty.

The judge had ruled, to his delight,
he get the kids, for weekend nights.
She doesn’t think it’s fair, or right,
in this house, full of empty.