Echoes

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