I am ready to drift
into the endless night,
as if it were an ocean.
Like waves of the tide,
my dreams will wash over me.
But I do not mind.
In them are
the reflection of
the stars.

It is only at night
that the constellations can be seen.
Here, I can find my way.
Which dream,
which constellation,
shall I see tonight?
Who will appear
by my side?

What wonders a night of sleep can do,
if you can fall asleep.

Today,
I am singed with regret.
I have forgotten
how to find my way in life,
my reasons for writing poetry,
as well as
sunscreen.

In disheartened passion
my heart melts
like the sunset of a
spaghetti western film.

Emerald pools
that pour into
cascades of foaming white,
thrashing about;
waterfall.

When faced on questions
of nothingness
one must ask
if meaning had been supposed.
In light of this,
even the greatest of disgraces
can be weathered,
the greatest of heartaches
can be understood.

Must one question
the implication of nothingness?
Surely, you understand.
It is something always present
and only uncovered,
to be learned
time and time again.

If nothingness breaks your heart,
you have presumed
that it was not nothing
from the start.
It is a matter of expectation,
one which could have never been true.

Boredom is the enemy of
contentment.
To love
is to mould the other's
emotions,
for better or worse.
We cannot get away
with a passionate
nothingness.

Above all things,
I know bitterness
because I was born
without having been asked.