Improvisation on a Theme of Absolute Absence
Everything is conceivable except nothing.
Nothing confounds the senses
accustomed, as they are, to lightning,
thunder, the scent of rainfall,
and the feel of hard wind on soft skin.
Nothing can't be tasted nor weighed.
Perhaps nothing has never existed;
perhaps something always has
and likes to tease the mind
with the notion of its opposite.
Nothing confounds the senses
accustomed, as they are, to lightning,
thunder, the scent of rainfall,
and the feel of hard wind on soft skin.
Nothing can't be tasted nor weighed.
Perhaps nothing has never existed;
perhaps something always has
and likes to tease the mind
with the notion of its opposite.
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Author's Note
Something about nothing.
Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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The idea of nothingness is terribly frightening. Not sure why.*
Especially like the sense detail in the middle: "to lightning,
thunder, the scent of rainfall,
and the feel of hard wind on soft skin.
Nothing can't be tasted nor weighed."
* Good poem, Gary.
Nature abhors a vacuum, does it not?*
Nothing's on first...no, wait. Much relieved by the final graceful notion. *
0 0 0 0 0 0
A teased mind does some teasing. Turnabout is fair play. *
Nothing wasted here.