Hollow Singing

A seashell on a beach sings a song.

To ivory walls and spiralling curves,
grains of sand and sea salt cling.
Half buried, I lay silent and still,
yearning for a chance to sing

Pick me up and hold me close.
Closer and closer, to your ear.
Listen, listen. To the song within.
My tune reverberates, unclear.

Knees rubbed raw on the sand,
you listen hard and listen well,
brows furrowed in concentration.
To discern the message I try to tell.

Or at least you thought it existed,
a meaning to my endless song.
Sooner or later you shall find,
that I was empty all along.

The voice you heard singing,
enchanting and pure,
was nothing but the echo
of the surrounding overture.

For nothing resides in my chambers.
Not even a note of melancholy,
I am but a hollow shell.
Listen well and realise your folly.