Nothing

Comes nothing today. My greatest enemy. Whose presence is warned by the unfoldings of tomorrow. That should the pieces fit in harmony, then comes nothing today.

Nothing sits in silence. Nothing speaks no words. Its presence is its meaning. Its absence, its intention. When no one goes, nothing comes. When nothing's done, nothing does. It does all that was not.

It need not speak, only come. It need not be seen, only felt. It need not need. Only desire.

Nothing knows the future. Nothing predicts with perfect score. That tomorrow offers invitation to spend the day today. Always one step in the front. With perfect knowledge of the past.

Only when tomorrow is scattered to the wind does nothing at long last take a step away. But even in its absence, its mark is borne. I see nothing. I hear nothing. I feel nothing. I know nothing. And nothing watches me with a smile. Nothing's heart is filled with love. Nothing finds joy in my presence.

Come tomorrow comes nothing. For should the day be scattered, the night is certain. Nothing goes only where something is not. It longs to fill the void.

I wrote about this piece in a blog post.