The Importance of Nothing,

SometimesMeans a lotIt’s like,An inner fightThat means so much,The deep questioningThat wants to come on outThat wants to knowWhat is and what is notThe truth!Above all the sullen rot,It also, sometimes isThe total intimacyOf a poet’s lifeThat sometimesBleeds and cries,And only occasionally,Will slightly smile.

Maybe a muffled cry,Maybe in some forgotten land,Where Roses go to die,Where home is not you’re home,You’re soul is not your own,You’re staring at the livid sand,Knowing you’re all alone.One love I had,That made me glad,But had a heart of stone,You cannot love an aching dream,Someone you’ve never known.

What better couldOur fleeting days,Expect to beMade of,For without loveLife can’t exist,At least for someThat’s how it is.

‘Because we’re very Sly,And want everything for Free!Conclusion,Always fooling others,Does not make us better brothers.

To make it comeTrue,Just me and you.

Nor of a woman’s, love,For it’s by loveThat we are mostlyMade and born of.