I don’t remember why I wrote this...

The others I live with,

that I speak to daily,

are silent.

Arguments halted,

discussion and counter-point,

stalled.

Mute and transfixed,

by the thought that rang out,

through the ether.

Now they are gone,

and laid bare

is the truth they concealed.

Vestiges, puppets,

simulacra of people

who shaped me.

Built up over years,

of learning, reflection

and thought.

The minds that remain,

settle and soften,

and fade into silence.

But the primal mind wakes,

wanders and stares,

at the void that remains.

Where there was story,

Void,

Where there were voices,

Void,

Where there was meaning...

Mute and transfixed,

where our dispute had brought us.

Vestiges... Puppets... Simulacra.