Empty Sound

It clattered, loud, a hollow shout,

when my shoe caught it by surprise.

An empty tin, tossed, rolling out,

reflecting grey, indifferent skies.

Dented hard, where once it held

some comfort, or some kind of good.

Now just a shell, forever quelled,

misunderstood, or understood

too well, perhaps. A simple thing,

discarded, pushed aside, forgotten.

But still, when kicked, it tries to sing,

a sharp, metallic, empty sound, rotten.