A Purpose in the Hollow is a piece of work that I'm genuinely proud of. When I wrote it, I was reflecting on my own childhood, growing up in the comfort of Middle England and never really wanting for anything. However, I began to see that this can also breed a sense of boredom, particularly in minds that are easily-influenced.

Lewis is a freelance writer from the UK, who has a passion for poetry and short stories. His work has previously featured in publications including Twisted Tongue, the Blue Hour and Sarasvati.

Too late to save
the seeping life of day, where moonlight spills in tricks of hoary shine, a
rebellion bleeds beneath the raging sky. Between the
street's glow and the shade it swarms, its motion fleeting as felled slants of
light sweep across the flagstones in relentless chase.

Whilst footfall
pounds against the cobbled stone, and beats the cadence of an anguished song,
it's quarry falls before insistent will. Stood still between
the contours of shadows, where all is hushed but for his heaving breath, he
bows beneath the weight of cruel intent.

As hands to fists
that bray the lifeless form shape crimson moulds beneath the silver sun, and
puncture life with thrusts of a pointed blade. Until bruised and
steeped in a bloodstained hue, they are pressed into pocketfuls of nothing,
restless for the remnants of the day.

As middle England
rests in content sleep, it's children seek a purpose in the hollow; denied them
through the motions of the day. Though strangers in
a small square of being, they acquiesce to an ambiguous yearn, to belong
beneath the smoulder of a midday sun.

Through a portent
of the fractured day, where blue smoke embers haunt the cerise sky, slow
bleeding colours birth the working hours; when they must live the dreams of
elders, through the dint of toil and token craft, and cast time until the
setting of the light.