people have written about everything,
nothing has been left to be found.
I've tried to find what wasn't left over,
but it's gone.
there's been poet's and scribes,
prophets and writs;
but they're gone,
until another one reincarnates.
love is nothing new to us.
and war never changes to.
but what we write is just rhetoric,
maybe that is too.
what's written makes no sense.
but there's no more writing to found.
weird how i'm writing
what already seems so profound.
we've reached everything, but haven't found the end.
is writing just a super-task of infinitesimally unfinished words. or do you have to furnish all the poems with fancy oak and gold