No more than the nothingness

Poetry: No End (To The Endless Days)


Image courtesy of Dominik Scythe on Unsplash

Now it is poetry time
By myself, with my music
With the wood-burner’s warm glow
With my, slowly-going-cold tea.

Yes we did
Yes we didn’t
Yes we walked
But yet we did not walk free.

For the writing
Writing here
Writing right now
Writing wakes the contemplation
Takes what is meant
Or what is not meant to be.

For those thinking
For those dreaming
For those catching leaves
Which fall from winter’s tree
Out of windows, into darkness.

Down the scales
On elevators, or escalators
We rise, we fall
To the wild crowds cheering.

As you speed it up
Speed it up now, stop
Speed it up now, stop
Faster; speed it up now