In realms of thought where emptiness resides,
Some verses I shall weave, where nothing thrives.
No grand designs, no tales of love or woe,
Just vacant space, where silence softly flows.
No vibrant hues to paint this hollow scene,
No words to grasp, no images convene.
For in this void, where absence finds its way,
I’ll craft a tribute to that which can’t hold sway.
No lofty mountains or enchanting seas,
No whispers carried by the gentle breeze.
No tender touch, no laughter to be heard,
Yet still, within this void, a song’s preferred.
For in the nothingness, there lies a key,
A canvas vast, where meaning comes to be.
In absence, shadows dance with unseen grace,
And nothing blooms, a masterwork’s embrace.
So here, within this poem’s empty core,
The nothingness reveals its subtle lore.
For in the spaces void of shape or form,
We find the seeds of beauty’s gentle norm.
And though this poem speaks of nothing’s plight,
Within these words, a flicker of delight.
For in the void, potential takes its flight,
And nothingness itself reveals its light.
I think I’ll take up stamp collecting.