spiritual language poetry & writings

nothing

 

I have nothing to say for myself.
I believe in nothing.
That’s why I always have nothing on my mind.
I just remembered something, however,
and if I may, here’s something to show for it,
a little something from nothing.
Mind you, it’s nothing to write home about.
And it’s nothing to speak of, either.
It’s really about nothing in particular.
For once you try everything from A to Z,
you find that nothing really works,
and that with nothing up your sleeve,
nothing is what it seems–
it leaves everything to your imagination
and nothing to be desired.
Now, if you think this has nothing to do with you,
or is much ado about nothing,
well, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.
As any good-for-nothing can tell you,
I’d like nothing better than to offer you nothing.
But timing is everything.
Before you get all worked up over nothing,
you should know something first:
I used to have nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to fear.
I mean, I used to think I was really something,
that I had everything going for me,
that anything was possible.
I used to believe that if one couldn’t have everything,
at least something was better than nothing,
and that as long as there was something for everyone,
who could ask for anything more?
One day, however, I began hearing sweet nothings
whispering in my ear, to the tune of
“All or nothing? All or nothing? All or nothing?”
At first something in me said, “Oh, it’s nothing,”
and I tried to act as if nothing had happened.
But day and night I kept hearing the sweet nothings
in my ear until I knew I had something to worry about,
since nothing was standing in my way
and I was already next-to-nothing.
Finally I decided it was all for nothing anyway,
that there was nothing left for me to do
except to take nothing personally.
So I slipped into something a bit more comfortable
and, after thinking of everything,
I said to myself, “Here goes nothing…”
And suddenly, in a blinding flash, nothing happened.
Absolutely nothing!
And everything–in a word–changed!
I had nothing more to lose,
nothing more to hide–
for nothing was new under the sun,
nothing more and nothing less.
And all I could say was, “Thanks. Thanks for nothing.”
That’s why, now, I can believe everything I hear,
for everything reminds me of something else.
And that’s why I can take nothing for granted,
for I know that nothing really matters,
that nothing’s perfect,
that nothing lasts forever.
After all, nothing is sacred.

 

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