Do the children imagine it’s a door? If so , to where?
I can see the Old men lamenting it as some sort of warning , but
failing to recollect entirely.
Lovers, sometimes, mistaking it as something they feel
a need to fill ,
or trying to force it to become a shelter.
But no one carries away the same story after standing before it.
Those with the fleeting courage to face it
These shapes in the world
stepped aside.
An absence, that draws
air leans differently there,
palpable,
as if even silence forgets
why it started
or how to stand.
To approach and look in.
speak, to it with an unsteady voice
returning
broken,
smaller, as if ashamed its self .
Others refuse to stand near it at all, afraid of the way the edges keep their secrets sharp.
Is it not empty , or emptiness ? Was nothing ever something ?
That much is certainly uncertain.
In the mystery,
does it wait ?
As if wanting and waiting were its only language.
And can those who manage to leave it behind
find themselves walking differently ,
lighter, or heavier, depending on what they thought they learned ?
Neither teaching or the teacher.
A space
wherein sits what we think of as nothing.
In reality we can’t perceive what is there but, it’s not empty
only our desire for it
to be .
Oct 2, 2025
Oct 2, 2025 at 5:12 PM UTC
Do the children imagine it’s a door? If so , to where?
I can see the Old men lamenting it as some sort of warning , but
failing to recollect entirely.
Lovers, sometimes, mistaking it as something they feel
a need to fill ,
or trying to force it to become a shelter.
But no one carries away the same story after standing before it.
Those with the fleeting courage to face it
These shapes in the world
stepped aside.
An absence, that draws
air leans differently there,
palpable,
as if even silence forgets
why it started
or how to stand.
To approach and look in.
speak, to it with an unsteady voice
returning
broken,
smaller, as if ashamed its self .
Others refuse to stand near it at all, afraid of the way the edges keep their secrets sharp.
Is it not empty , or emptiness ? Was nothing ever something ?
That much is certainly uncertain.
In the mystery,
does it wait ?
As if wanting and waiting were its only language.
And can those who manage to leave it behind
find themselves walking differently ,
lighter, or heavier, depending on what they thought they learned ?
Neither teaching or the teacher.
A space
wherein sits what we think of as nothing.
In reality we can’t perceive what is there but, it’s not empty
only our desire for it
to be .
... This piece doesn’t show the hole In fact, it never even uses the word; it is the hole, in all its seductive, unnerving incompleteness. The subtle wordplay makes it recursive its absence IS the piece , the idea of wholeness, as if nothingness itself has a structure inexorable influence , weight, and even intention. .. ( This is limited time note, I will remove it )
Request permission to use this poem