I've thought deep and true for an idea,
Of a topic I can center my poem on.
There was none that surfaced,
So none shall it be.

No weight of subject to anchor us down,
No limits to hinder, no thoughts to drown.
In the vast expanse where stillness is known,
The heart of nothingness is brightly shown.

Akin to the sound of one hand clapping,
Like raging winds in the eye of the storm,
Let us contemplate on nothing,
Let us define the absence of form.

A blank canvas for something to exist,
The absence for the heart to grow fond,
It is a silence so deep, where echoes are drawn,
The root of the void where all things are gone.

Without, none, nothing, doesn't exist,
Synonyms, or a sentence wrongly punctuated.
One thing is for certain: this poem's been fun.
A topic to discuss, indeed I have... none.

Looking at the mirror, I don't see myself
Lately been wanting to be someone else
Lately been feeling like I'm not enough
Hoping that someone can see through my bluff
Hoping someone sees that my life has been rough
Hoping that people see I'm not that tough!

I've been fake so long, I don't know what's real
Trying to say a word but I can't break that seal
People keep depending on me, they see me as a light
Little do they know, I lose sanity every night
Little do they know, I'm starting to lose this fight
I'll keep smiling on, and pretend I'm not hurt by the pressure
I'll keep holding on, take a break man I need a refresher

I'll keep high, making sure that my poise never falters
I'll speak from my mind, making sure that my words never flutter

...who am I?

Too many stops. Too many pauses. Too many full stops.

When moments could have flowed fluid

Could have continued along time’s axis to unfurl experiences

Now unknown, now wondered about, now pondered on. I’m not shaken. But it’s never cathartic. It is forever suspense. It is forever remembrance.

It is not regret. I was who I was, and I am who I am. I cannot null that. It is, wishes, perhaps. It is, wanting, to exist as two, to stop, but to continue, to watch, to witness.

I am full stops; given to elective ethos and jittering convictions. And given to these full stops, I wander, wonder, what, what if, should, should have. What? Happens? After?

We ask ourselves;
‘Why?’
That ‘life was made to die’,

But if we continue to ponder,
We turn grim,
And somber.

For this question is up to us.
A creation of an answer,
One can trust.

As one can love,
And finally adjust.

Back to the start we go,
Life is a constant flow,
Of ups and downs,
Smiles and frowns,
To all the memories
we know.

Back to the start,
We say
As we become
lost and astray,
Tired and drained,
At the tasks thrown at us today.
Or perhaps day one
For some,
Feeling less than alive,
We sink and thrive,
All at the same time.

What a strange way to survive.

Back to that feeling,
We pray,
That it goes away
one day.
Or perhaps not,
As we sink and rot,
In the wounds and woes
Life has thrown and tossed,
To make us feel lost,
And truly unknown.

Or perhaps we are content
In life as it is now.
How wonderful it would be
For all to feel the same,
The relaxing happiness
That we strive for each day.
We pray and fret,
And live to forget
Of the thoughts that keep us
locked in
And afraid.

But as humans we grow,
Live through the flow,
Of light and darkness,
For the awaiting goal.
To finally feel at home,
Content with the flow,
Of constant changes
To our mind and soul.
But we live and thrive,
Breathe and survive,

For what a strange way we live in this life.

She's an amazing woman,
If only she thought similiary
Of me.

I fully hate you.
No questions to my detest.
Why am I here though?