"Hollow Vessel, Holy Sun"
There is nothing inside—
not a quiet, not a scream—
just a space that doesn’t echo.
I am a vessel,
emptied so long ago
I forget the shape of fullness.
It is not sadness.
Not grief.
Those have texture.
This is—
a glass shell without reflection,
floating between weight and wind.
And yet,
in this absence,
I feel something like power.
No tide to shift me,
no flame to consume.
I am above it—
above the storm,
above the ache.
The sun, too,
burns with everything
and belongs to no one.
It watches, untouched,
while worlds spin in need.
So mighty—
and always alone.
Maybe I am like that:
the empty throne,
the golden silence,
the light that feels nothing
but still remains.
