The Potential of Nothingness
Much ado about nothing and its fame,
or more to consider about the same.
The to and fro by carousel thought,
heaving and dashing caught.
A fair evening and warm vapor fills the air,
distant ideas seem clearly near.
Through that slow appearing star-lit night,
swift birds of passage on their flight.
Hearing that cry in strange voices high,
falling and dreaming from the sky.
Forms one cannot see in flow,
sounds of strange delight and woe.
Or are those thoughts of songs,
ado pleasure, pains and wrongs.
Hearing my soul in cry from toiling,
with nothing but ideas of spoiling.
Realms true potential of an elusive night,
murmuring sounds and images just rhymed.
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