Nothing

Not a single drop of ink on this white page. Not a single drop of soaking silent tears Not a single night of those haunted nightmares. Not for you Not for me Not for these unspoken moments Not for these improbable nights, when Dreams turn almost true and magnificent As a diffusing Arabian horse, melting in those fleeting clouds! Shapeshifter swirling clouds of these butterfly imaginations of mine Know you and me, very well. They also know the hidden serpentine Of the whispering darkness of our souls. Yet, they promise to rise in colors, rainbows, and in the fluidity of dreams. A silent night ensures that Nothing is happening anywhere, out there. Only an empty bottle cringes, somewhere.