I do not worship nothing
Because it's the opposite of something
Instead I find only slight praise in those moments
When a quiet something new emerges
From what I perceive to be
But probably isn't
Nothing at all

Declarative me, saying what I was
With a question inbetween

Feeling better as if I'd breathed again
In the quiet stillness of unthinking

In such words I lose myself for a min
Until hours catch up and overtake me

As if questioning what I was and then
Sets me free to begin and be

This is how I tend to write and then
This is why, it's is not, and for me