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My Happy Nothing

Is it the liquid jealousy coursing through me?
Is it the rage?
Is it the thoughts of heinous crime beget upon the humbled mass...
of my soul.

What makes me cry so thoroughly. So tenderly?
wanting more.
Never satisfied and always loving the portable thoughts
of my loneliness.

Is there poetry left in me? Or is it the mechanical burn?
Is there emptiness left?
Does my heart hold back the rage of self and incrimination?
Happenstance undeniable.

It is gone, the glue that holds me together.
It has passed beyond, to the sorrow of my shadow and my soul
where nothing cares and nothing wears at me.
My happy nothing.

And I am always left without, wanting recognition.
Wanting growth.
I want a substance clinging to me that does not recoil at the sorrow
that is me.

When poems fade to myth and pixies to bright dust in the forest wind
there I am wondering gray and gold.
beyond the sunset wall I wonder and I ponder the peace
of my last breath.

poem by Poet Dragon
Added by Poetry Lover
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