It wasn't bad
it wasn't good
it represented everything
I feared so much before...
that unattainable grace
tornados of stone
a bad written story
with a desolating end.
It wasn't bad
It wasn't good
it was like a fable
that repeat itself
in different places
in different times
with different faces
like unleashed madness.
It wasn't bad
it wasn't good
it was what it was
either I like it or not
unbearable silence
under wet sheets at night
I don't think many understand
what a space full of nothingness is.
And I could go on and on
repeating myself
like those endless novels
where everyone dies
then comes a new day
with knew pop stars
singing meaningless songs
acting without knowing their lines.
Jessica
In the garden where morality is a shadow spinning into nothingness,
two bodies touch like shadows fading into the smoke of dusk,
it's not love, just an echo of another touch, a pulse in the unnatural,
we are strangers meeting and parting on a stage of forgetfulness.
And your eyes are deep lakes, reflecting no hope,
only empty desires seeking solace in the abyss of a hollow heart,
we were free, yet senseless, like the dead embracing,
a game without risks, without humor, a ruin smiling at fate.
This garden is full of poisoned fruits, yet sweet fragrances,
and you must know how to discern, to understand the secret of each petal,
we are lost in this flow of thoughts, of history and truth,
for without morality, we are just two lost phantoms, in search of ourselves.
And deep in the heart, where love's roots should grow,
only sand flows, reminding of stories lost in a dream,
we are shipwrecks on a sea of silence, a mute echo in the night,
in a world of strangers, where only death knows a true love.
I was drenched in black water,
Yet, it looked as though I were dried out.
I stood before a lighthouse,
Yet, remained unseen.
Gazing into the sea’s blackness,
The highest tides forever circled me.
My eyes could find no anchor,
As my dark hands sailed towards the farthest shore.
My home, too, was cloaked in shadow;
Something unseen, yet present, walked with me there.
The map and the wanderer within me never agreed.
Colours were but drifting sailors in my life’s vast sea.
Different souls sail different paths,
Tides come and go.
Memoirs float like driftwood.
Something vast yet fragile appears near the stones.
My grave is smaller than the stones,
Its epitaph; empty and black.
I performed on countless beaches,
Yet, nothing remains visible on this blackest shore.
Wrap your poem
around nothing
its bow mocked
in relief
Each word
but a gesture
of empty
deceit
Wrap your verse
in a vacuum
where all speech
is abhorred
The power
of emptiness
alone
— and unscored
(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)
Perhaps I wouldn't move
if the train came.
Not out of courage,
just curiosity.
What does it feel like?
or just the experience, maybe.
I sit down in the shower sometimes
until the water forgets it's warm
and I forget
I have skin.
In that moment,
and that moment only
I think nothing
but oh, I feel-
I feel everything
like a flood, swirling, raging inside,
beating ferociously on the locked doors.
On the surface?
an ingrained smile,
a shrug,
a practiced "whatever."
I'm not good at
being good.
Not when good means
loud, bright, easy.
Sometimes I scream
like my ribs are splitting,
but my voice, my throat-
remain stubbornly silent.
I wish one day,
you would knock,
and no one would answer-
No one would come to the door.
Because perhaps I'd have reached where I've always wanted to be,
or perhaps I'm just not there anymore.
God made everything out of nothing
but the nothingness shows through.
Paul Valery
Only silence wells
in the dark throat of the evening
and anything you hear
is of the world's making
or your own mind
filling up the empty spaces.
Music is made this way
and poetry, as they try
to give substance and form
to what is missing,
to fill that gnawing void
with a note or word.
Works fluoresce
as exotic creatures do
in the dark of deep seas,
small, faint flickers
punctuating the unknowable
with momentary life.
And so it is,
we are drawn towards
a centre that seems everywhere,
a nothingness rolled
into a ball, the circumference
of the infinite that resides
within us all.
I gazed at the city lights,
but felt nothing—
this city,
a vault of memories,
echoes of my life.
I turned my gaze to the sky,
the stars, indifferent,
as if I stared into infinite nothingness.
In his eyes, I sought
that spark to make my heart beat again,
but found only emptiness.
The music played,
yet I could not hear its song—
sight and sound, mere whispers,
touching my mind,
but never reaching my heart
nor my soul.
Am I but a shadow,
adrift above the ocean,
unable to dive into its depths,
deprived of the beauty,
the life hidden beneath the waves?
I’m lying here
In my broken bed
That’s caving in
Under my nothingness
Waiting (not patiently)
For my pregnant brain
To quiet down
Waiting for the
Swishing sound
Between my ears
To finally cease
Waiting for your light snoring
To begin, so that mine
Can take over
Waiting in my broken bed
That’s caving in
Under my nothingness
But I’m not alone
You are there
On your side
Of the caved in bed
A million miles away
With your head
Facing north
And mine
Facing south
Opposite of you
What dreams do you see
Are they of me
I envy your sleep
But also pity you
Because this nocturnal poem
Won’t write itself
And I realize something too
Run on sentences
Even at 2:09 a.m.
Still makes me furious
But I’m too lazy
To change it now
And there are those
Who wouldn’t notice anyway
Or even care
NEVER imagined such treasures I'd find
OF this one thing I am certain
THERE was something massive beneath the surface
HEAVENLY places are often hidden in humble places
I sat at a table and talked about this, that, and the other
NOTHING prior had taught me the power of nothingness
GOD alone can make something out of nothing at a men's breakfast
NEWLY discovered fortunes surfaced from deep within our souls
EACH week we met to talk about anything, but nothing in particular
SOMETIMES it pays to stop the plan, stand down, and settle in
SINCE discovering such nothingness, I'm a richer man.
090924PS
NOTHINGNESS
Spreading around in every
direction are wings of a
peacock
patterned
cherubs hug fresh
cherries
align with soul sounds
one point zero hertz
transmit blue, crimson
white
sitting inside a rock
a marble ornamented figure
gold explodes into grapes
falling
falling
falling
Nothing matters except
drowning into
Nothingness
Still he sits on a Roman
coin
or is it Greek ?
listening for
rain
shine rain
perhaps
a grasp or a wave of fire
It will not come
Nothingness is here
Now !
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&
Song2003/edit2024
his dream.. is a flowery, red carnation..
I looked straight into Sun's eyes
and challenged her with great audacity
to dry the lakes in my eyes.
I'll let her stab my face
again and again and again
until I lose feeling.
Her flame is jealous
of my blazing wrath
—an eternal state of day
that lights up my never-ending night.
And I'm an insane insomniac,
sane enough to dance to the
silence of the gloomy night.
I'm a pile of emotion and truth
turning into shreds of lies,
and tomorrow I'll be a haze
condensing into wax
over the head of nothingness
to hide anonymous sorrows,
and the day after,
I'll look into the mirror
and find
nothing . . .
Intrinsic awareness,
sensuous stream
in the vale of time,
channeled challenged
through mind’s myriad
angularities accentuated,
carries in coherent current
ceaselessly,
the cognitive impulses
criticality conjured,
surging swathing waves
of enlightenment
across formless emptiness
of amorphous perception.
The pulse of time
vibrates with perpetuity
in inner space,
intuitively infinite,
the cadence in harmony
with the intonation
of eternity,
the manifested
timeless transition
from one phase
to another
in continuum,
modulated mystically
by stimulus shimmer
of the illumined soul.
The life force
ostensibly obscure,
abhors vacuum,
persistence pervasive
propels the essence
of the existent
in nothingness niche.
Between nothingness and poetry, man hides,
On the tightrope of life, he weaves his lofty path,
Nothingness and poetry, they meet in the depths of the human soul,
In a dance of destiny, unfolding in the world.
Poetry is light in the face of the abyss,
A guiding star on the unknown road,
In the haze of oblivion, on the floating ship,
Man seeks the unheard truth in verses.
The void attracts him with sweet and enchanting arms,
Defying the charm that supports his dream,
But poetry, triumphant, sets him free,
From darkness to light, with unseen wings.
In the arms of poetry, the soul becomes divine,
Carried on waves of words and thoughts,
Man conquers nothingness and revives his spirit,
Singing eternal verses on the strings of the harp.
For between nothingness and poetry, man is divine,
With his soul fighting in a mystical symphony,
Transcending the boundaries of time and space,
Soaring towards infinity on the wings of love.
Everything
Is under the shadow
Of nothingness
The threat
Of absence haunts
The human heart
Killing
Is the maceration
Of connection
Yet everything
Dances
Between us
Colour
In vibrancy
Unseen
Music
To the ear
Unheard
Love
Lighting up
All darkness
Forgiveness
Fuel to furnace
This future
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