Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Emily Dickensonesque poem #1

In pausing in the Midst of Life
We make a Space in Air
A Space that Emptiness can fill
And take its Proper Share.

For Nothing is Deserving of
Its Place beneath the Sun,
For Nothing is the Meaning
Behind all that Man has done.

If we preserve a place for Naught
A Hole within our Heart
Where Nothing speaks and Nothing's Taught,
We Bless our Hidden Start

Before we birthed then Nothing Was,
When we are Dead, the Same
Betwix those Poles, we Nothing are,
Oh praise the Empty Name.

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