The Emptiness That Isn’t There


The moon and stars

Wrapped in ribbons of rain

Trees swaying with the wind

I listen and I wonder

As this very self of mine

Flows into the emptiness

That isn’t there

How could it be such perfection

The cosmos – greater than me

And I touch it with such small hands

This frail and loveliest of all blossoms

In an infinite universe

And the quiet dew glistens

Just for me

Nothing is as perfect

As everything is

And nothing is as beautiful

As this

Posted by

Not much to tell, antisocial, bipolar, loner, poet. That's me in 4 word's.

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