Image result for a lady and her purse in painting

What I found in the void
Was not mystical, but plain,
As when you look up at the sky
And wonder if it will rain.
Or you may wonder when you will die,
But nothing up there will tell you,
No matter how cloudy the sky.

Symbols may populate your brain,
But what I found in the void
Was simple, and far more plain:
A cloudy shape just a cloudy shape—
Not a myth depicting war, or whatever the main
Reason is for love, metamorphosis, rape,
Sorrow, paranoia, pictures, pain.

What I found in the void
Was my poetry and beauty,
But not of the spectacular kind,
Not something yammering in my mind,
Just something mildly pretty
Is all I found in the void—
And then I came back to you:
Your purse, your appointments, annoyed.


1 Comment

  1. Mr. Woo said,

    December 3, 2016 at 2:54 pm

    The last stanza hits home for me: the experience of coming back from the thing to…the thing, but an extremely convincing version of the thing pretending it is separation.

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