Nothing
I open my notebook and stare at the page;
Its blankness looks back at me, taunting.
I don’t have a topic or thought to engage,
So writing a poem seems quite daunting.
I think of my day and whatever’s occurred,
Yet nothing has snagged my attention.
To write about nothing sounds rather absurd,
Though “Seinfeld” right here needs a mention.
A show about “nothing” is how it was billed,
But of course it was anything but.
With trivial banter its characters filled
Every episode making the cut.
And so, in that spirit, I’ve written these lines –
A springboard from empty to full;
For sometimes oblivion gives us designs
And we yield to gratuity’s pull.
The cosmos, from nothingness, came to exist
And likewise, the words that I write.
Comparisons naturally should be dismissed
But both needed a spark to ignite.
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