I'll Find Nothing

More Nothing.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Less of nothing.



Who's to say?

Said to who?

All I wanted was to play with words,

Learn to twist sound and bend time a little

Like the wind that soars.

Soaring wind.

Wind soaring.

Into nothing.

Nothing into nothing.



How much nothing is in nothing?

Nothing has nothing in it. Nothing is zero. There is no nothing

In nothing.

But then how come--

Well, nothing will be nothing.

That vacuum of a number

Can only be empty enough

To hold emptiness.

Infinity, then.

But what happened to nothing at all?

Ah. A paradox. If anything is--

Then this.

Such a puzzling thing, nothing.

But beautiful and impossible all at once.

A wonderful thing

To look out over nothing.

As your eyes jump

Along invisible walls

A solid brick of darkness

Between you and the rest of the world.

You tune your ears to beyond silence,

Hearing the empty blank, sitting motionless

The indestructible form

Of utter white blackness.

A breath, at last, slips

From between your lips

The static is broken

The silence is broken

The darkness is broken

My paradox is broken.

But what of it?

I'll find nothing

Another time.



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