nothing comes out of nothing, said
the Bard.
emptiness stares back from the dull
walls of the streets hedged in the vanity of existence.
day and night drag each other along
to some unseen end.
the far end of the earth waits
staring into the endless depths of the Void.
life was never here. nor there.
caught in the between. covered in
the soot of centuries, the being waits.
still.
not even a breath, not even a
ripple..
the feeble stir of a slothful soul
smothered in the inky dark emptiness of frozen death.
inspiration is a dead man’s dream.
***
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