The Hollow Men

We are the hollow men
   We are the stuffed men
   Leaning together
   Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
   Our dried voices, when
   We whisper together
   Are quiet and meaningless
   As wind in dry grass
   Or rats' feet over broken glass
   In our dry cellar

    Shape without form, shade without colour,
    Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
   
    Those who have crossed
    With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
    Remember us-if at all-not as lost
    Violent souls, but only
    As the hollow men
    The stuffed men.