If I were to suddenly evanesce, to flee, to disappear, to run fast and headlong into the bright nothingness of the night, what ruin would find my absence? Would their be sick wailing siren calls of the once was reaching my soul's ears through the nothingness of me? I hope not. Not Wailing over me.... a tear or two will do, followed quickly with a laugh. But I do not wish to know the old world anymore after I am gone. Why dry up and go, if to only to still receive drops of the once-was in a teacup, to simply drink bitterly of. Remember me or don't, for I will not care as I lie afloat amongst the stars, dreaming of new things, new worlds, new excursions to catapult a frayed mind to healing, to repair a ripped soul torn asunder. Cry and smile in the same instant is all I ask of you if you do remember, for I liked to be missed in both respects. So I guess I do care a little at that. I believe in everything and nothing in this Universe and I would miss both aspects were I to finally fall into the abyss of what-not and possibly nothings. I enjoy the Everything of people healing of the cuts they give themselves and get, and its wondrously satisfying to partake in living in that magical epiphany of them I do not enjoy the Nothing, in the sense that they will continually scratch the scabs to bleeding every so often and there is no mop big enough, nor pail of water full enough to ever fully clean it all up. I am tired of slipping in their blood. The Everything of them is wonderful buy sometimes the Nothing of them becomes all too much. By Philip Wardlow Dec, 2021
Tag Archives: nothing
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