It's hard to zero in on nothingness;
That word, spun by my thoughts, does not compute.
Was born to see and feel a 'somethingness';
My senses all are mired within that root-
And empty, zero, naught- are not acute.
For nothingness, I think of cosmic space
Beyond known stars and planets- what I'd face!
So difficult to think about a void
Without some sides or borders that embrace.
The more I think- the more thoughts get destroyed!
I feel like a ROSE
As though I were an actual ROSE
Just as such I feel as though my
Petals are fluffed and moist with morning
Dew, a tranquil VOICE.
The eve of blossoming spawning in the
Pupil of an accurate eye sight.
At the stroke of dusk, the born.
on going respite To the stillness of a
SLUMBERING MIDNIGHT.
I might just be a ROSE or at least the
Essence the spirit of one when I recite these words
On royal bluish days with electrifying verbs.
Words concise kind and polite.
I feel just like a ROSE
It is something special to have each buttery
Blue petal caressed.
Yes!! A sort of somethingness.
I'm 72.5
How many more years on this earth?
5? Hopefully 8.
What then? Heaven? Hell? Purgatory?
Perhaps Purgatory to wash away my regrets.
Or relive them and correct them.
This leap to the afterlife is no longer nothingness
But rather somethingness
Where light will always shine in happiness.
I'm 72.5
How many more years will I have in this life?
5? Hopefully 8.
What then?
Purgatory to wash away my rues?
Or maybe another dimension
Where past meets future
And the same life repeats itself
But this time corrected
From all the regrets of this life.
Will it be a leap into nothingness?
No, I believe in somethingness
In the afterlife.
To contemplate nothing with something, a Sisyphean task
The mind’s paths, like Escher’s roads, simply double back
To land again in somethingness, explanations lack
Yet our deeper selves know profoundly the nothingness
It’s the void that fills up magically with a loved one’s kiss
5/3/16
There's something to nothingness, that's true
No matter what you say or think or do
There's somethingness out there
It is just you're unaware
So, gaze out into space, enjoy the view
The rock I stand on
is hard
I lean down and put my hand on
its hardness
Once there was
a nothingness
then the tiniest speck
of somethingness
burst into
the everythingness
until at last there was
thinkingness
so I can feel
this hardness
But this hardness is really an illusion
brought about by a grand collusion
the quite improbable action
of four forces of attraction
and one more of reaction
With steel hammer this rock I could shatter
but if a creature were I of dark matter
this rock I’d not even batter
So tell pray tell me
what’s really real
I’m sure it can’t be
just what I can feel
SOMETHINGNESS
Ugly, shapeless, formless:
Amoeba metamorphoses
into concrete images;
Dark, void, hollow-hearth:
Dim cave metamorphoses
into residence of light.
Dungeon beggar hobnob palace princes:
Nothingness metamorphoses
into somethingness
©Angel Simon 2013
When I look for something real I almost always find everything fake in what I see,
yet I feel something out there waiting to come within me.
When I do not seek what I really need or want I am not upon those ordinary people doing extraordinary things that are sought,
yet in a normally crazy kind of way I know from somewhere I am to seek the unknown so that it may be known like it or not.
It's not here, it's not there, because in a way I know it's everwhere,
So when look at what I seen or what I saw, I know it doesn't mean Presence's Unseen can't be seen when you blindly stare at nothingness looking for somethingness up in the air.
Its that forever Unseen Presence that got this cold heart to once again care.
considering the death of a friend
who has not died yet, who in fact
is in perfect health, or a parent, a
family member, all who walk &
talk beside you, giving one the
feeling of belonging or at least a
simple somethingness in this
futile world---it defines a
presence---
the very essence of that person
in your life & the void which
will inevitably come (it’s either
you or them) is impossible to
determine, even if one has had
plenty die around them, even if
they have never recovered from
such death, the possibility of the
death of a family member or a
good friend is something that
one cannot write about with any
true sincerity, until of course, it
is too late---so with this tool of
words, we are helpless, with this
tool of artistry, we can do nothing
at all to save those closest too us,
all we can do it dwell in the
wondrous moment with them &
though there may always be the
question as to whether the pain
felt in their passing is something
which one can endure, the
presence felt by them while alive
is something irreplaceable,
a piece of the puzzle to be brought
along the way (never dropped for
any reason).
Dear America
I love you so madly
will try to explain why.
You taught me to preesh
mom's cheesecaky escapades
into visions forbidden
So it still goes for women.
Many sighs abound.. is anyone listening?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wisps of somethingness or nothingness, who knows?
Wisps of somethingness or nothingness, who knows?
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