that in the end you are nothing
as in the beginning you were nothing
and that nothing is the sum of us
in the eyes of this great uncaring universe
but we can be nothing together
as easily as we could be nothing alone
and we have nothing to prove
to the eyes of this great uncaring universe
like a phantom limb
it is absent
but felt
there go my thoughts falling about
scattered about
my scattered brains
any thought at all will do
trying so hard not to think about you.
Three things:
He is there.
She is here.
There is an ocean in between.
These three things
are insignificant to me.
(But what they must mean
to he – to she.)
the face of the flower always follows the sun
in the constant strive
the need for its nourishment
“a man’s reach should exceed his grasp
or what’s a heaven for?”
there’s a dream of
something
so far beyond
the tips of my fingers
it seems an impossibility
but the important part
is not in finally reaching it –
it’s in the reach.
Or else what’s a heaven for?
mehryment 