More of Nothing

There seems to be an underlying theme of ‘nothing’ in my poems lately. You could ask me why. I wouldn’t know. The poems are few and far between these days and not as wonderful as I would want them to be but the creativity still oozes out once in a while and perfection is, of course, unattainable. So I continue to pour them out here.

I did nothing
I burnt
myself black
Charred black
It was a planned event of decades
And it belonged to someone else I think

Why mourn the death of one
When I could mourn that of a dozen?
I did nothing
I earned
The reputation of a woman lost in dreams
Lost in something pungent
Lost in that land of steam

The colors moaned, their vibes
Were only remnants of something deep
I did nothing
I stirred
A movement out of those dead leaves
I kissed and sang the wind
And poured language into the void

The kisses made little beasts come alive
And choking love and sound, they grew
I did nothing
I plucked my eyebrows
And made new wishes by the dozens
A gallery of frozen dreams now rests
In that ocean of emotions

I did nothing because it felt right
It was not worth the pain
It was not worth that light
I did nothing and I hoped to fall
But I didn’t because
Nothing meant nothing at all.

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