The Hollow Ones
They walk in silence, yet never alone,
A sea of echoes, flesh without soul.
Their eyes are open, but nothing sees,
Puppets swaying in the programmed breeze.
They speak in riddles that bear no weight,
Mimicked wisdom, thoughts too late.
Their hands reach out, but never hold,
Their hearts beat soft, but never bold.
A script in hand, they play their part,
Lines rehearsed, no fire, no spark.
They do not question, they do not stray,
Bound in chains they call “the way.”
And yet, among the ghost-lit throng,
A shadow moves, unchained, alone.
A lone wolf walks where few have dared,
Through forests deep and empty stares.
He does not wake them—he does not try,
For those who sleep will fight the sky.
The truth would burn, the light would blind,
They choose their cage, they love their bind.
So he moves on, without regret,
A path unknown, a fate well met.
The hollow ones will fade to dust,
And he will rise—because he must.
Are you the hollow one, fading into the fog, or the lone wolf who dares to rise?
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