that’s what I feel like sometimes;
Nothing, no where, no how
I see a distant sun of vibrant gold
cradled in a bowl of purple and pink
on a horizon I imagine I will never reach,
It reminds me that I’m Nothing
and yet Something to even to be allowed
A nighttime sky, filled to bursting
with a voluminous marble of a moon
within a black bag of stars I can’t begin to sift through.
Yet I do, and that Something feels cool
on fingertips never finding purchase.
I know Life is a tangled sphere of yarn
wrapped around an onion
spinning and dancing in
an ordered rhythm with other crying onions
as they bump butts.
Nothing and Something,
A single stolen kiss in the dark with a girl,
yet readily given by her, for I am no thief;
soft yet firm, gentle yet wanting.
Nothing exists, not even
me in that moment,
and yet Something.
Clues and misdirection, blind alleys
and closed thoroughfares,
leashed to Nowhere.
Yet Somewhere will be the end when
the journey’s through
Humbled and awed
but at other times
petulant and angry.
I stomp my foot inside my soul.
I am tired of feeling like Nothing
Something sounds good.
by Philip Wardlow 2016