Rapture, Cataclysm , Big Bang,
all simultaneous, beginning of
nothing, imagining the unimaginable,
silence, void, lack of a universe, no
source, no end, no being, the indescribable,
the undefinable, isolation yet nothing
to be isolated from, not even alone, just not.
Existence doesn’t exist, just pure absence.
Yet, in death we exist, only in the ether...

I look to the moon, my pen ready.
Nothing comes, the urge, the pain,
Help! The moon laughs, ridicules
my thoughts. This moon, subject of
the great poets of yore, demeans
and discourages my efforts. I turn
to my heart, full with words and feeling.
Where have you been it asks.
I’ve been to the moon I answer.
And, what did you find it asks?
Nothing, I answer. My words are
your words it says. No need to look
elsewhere. Always from my heart...

Words flow
inundate the page,
a swirling flood, turbulence
on the flat sheet.
I am attacked, the vice
of indecision clamps
my mind, the pressure
intense, the pain spiritual.
The battle rages, the
vultures circle, I succumb.
Suddenly, all is quiet,
I’m alone on the page
surrounded by the
remnants of the conflict.
I rise and collect the words
laying them in lines like
casualties after the battle.
But, now, the words come
alive. They sing the song
of truth. I lie down
exhausted and sleep.
The words surround
me and keep me warm.

Nighttime, sliver of light
Inspiration in the void
Darkness nurtures me

The moon calls its tune
the tides awaken and roll
my mind rebels

Silence everywhere,
Rain cries in pain as it hits the hard surface,
No human buffer to fall on.
26/4/2020