“Nothing” is so hard to imagine,
For even empty space is something.
Nothing means “no thing”,
Which means it cannot exist
Without Existence.

There must be Something
For there to be a Nothing.
And then we have the anomaly
Of sub-atomic particles
Winking in and out of existence:
Something then nothing then something then…

We are partly made of such particles,
So we too are winking……

The wonder of it all, of course,
Is that I sit here
Scratching my head about “Nothing”,
A sentient being trying to make sense
Of the miracle that is Life.

Paul Butters

Some write for a hobby just,
Me? I write because I must.
Writing to me is a need
As to life the need to breathe.

You are reckless colour
and I'm the muted grey
backdrop to you riot.
I let you run wild
while you carry the world
on your tired back,
dripping paint on the
canvas of space and
time. You paint universes
in sorrow, stars in
exhaustion; you drown
oceans in skies and
raise mountains on
plains. You are wild
imagination and I'm
the steady flow of
words to keep you
solemn company. You
are the last dregs of
chaos, strong and pure,
and I am the smell of
an old room, always
there, forever constant,
forever lingering. You
are great joys sprinting
across the canvas and
I'm the borders that
you leave on the
windowsill. You are
violent song, trembling
tears; I am the quiet nod
of a great tree as it listens
to the whispering wind.
You are a million sparks
of power, behind a dam
of subtlety, and I am the
river, waiting for time to
pass. You are autumn, or
what it feels like to fall,
and I am the warm summer
with my joyous abandon.

You and I are forever in
balance; you observing me,
me writing you down.

Wouldn't it be amazing
If we could just
"Right click -> delete"
The feelings we have
That are bringing us down?
Oh, the heartache
That could be spared.

And I know
As the wind blows, blows
I will be carried home
As the forest inevitably
Always infatuated with life
As the gentle manner of the rabbit
Is always betrayed by the hawk
As the grass rooted to this earth
Will only experience life running past
And as the crickets sing
For the darkness coming near

The most beautiful smiles come sometimes with tears,
The deepest feelings can come with distance.

The distance between me and you
cannot be measured in miles, or kilometres, hours of travelling, nor in any other unit invented by mankind;
it is measured in feelings and thoughts,
in dreams and longings
in "wish you were here" messages sent at 2:32am from a drunk heart who has forgotten the touch of a kind warm hand
it's measured in unsaid words and unshared laughs ,
in skin that has not been touched and tears that have not been wiped
in mental blocks caused by a picture you can't stop staring at
in mad driven souls screaming the same name endlessly
in hearts beating fast at the sound of a ringing phone,
it is measured in empty arms
in lonely walks at night
in the morning coffee poured in only one cup and tables for one at the restaurant
in cold beds
sleepless nights
in eyes that don't meet
lips becoming dry because of the absence of that special kiss.
It is measured in never coming true wishes.

Such a long, painful, distance between me and you
I will always be able to reach you
only with the fingertips
of my mind.