A weird poem about nothing that turns out to be about something quite important to me. |
-A Poem About Nothing- by Keaton Foster Where are you going Where have you been Nothing my truest sin Living within a gilded cage Crumbling walls continuously fail Falling down into forever’s womb Never again to rise to purpose A sterile void of nonexistence Where nothing truly lives And everything certainly dies No shape is to again be made Because no shape is taken An illusion of nothing made real By this tiresome, bothered mind Expressing via shoveling Screaming take this Up to your neck, above your head Suffocate upon these ideals Feel my worrisome heart as it explodes Each word is a stain becoming a mess Outward bound they go Upon the masses All of my hatred is placated Little do they know That I am a master of such games I have always known what I am doing I have always done it without regret They often spend their sacred time Telling me of what they wish Lending a voice to my ear Seemingly deaf I have become At least to some of them Others I hear all too well I take heed to their words This poem about nothing Is actually about something It’s about them and what I must do To keep them coming back To keep them within my toxic grip Suffering as they read All that I express through my fingertips The truest link to my heart and soul These words spelled out are the spark The living identity of who I am And what I and my words are capable of… A Poem About Nothing Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2012. |