Ne’er Moving Man


No audience

Gathers round the

Catatonic

Ne’er moving

Man;

Like a mime

Without

The empty airs

Of pretentious

Performance –

He stands eternal

In marble monument

Watching over shadows

In silent duty.

 

 

 

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White Words


When weighty words

Of nescient nobles

Weigh nothing at all

 

Yet those words

Still burden broken beings

With lead-lacquered lore

That holds captives

Captive with dark dreams

Dreamt up –

Leant upon themselves;

 

The oppressed –

Supporters of their

Own oppression.

 

That is when

Suppressed speech

Speaks up

First, a word

Then a torrent.

Thoughts tearing down

The self-supported cell…

 

The pale words of white-washed men

Weighed

By the masses –

Found empty as echoes…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Empty Room


A room with nothing in.
To observe it would make it not empty at all,
But if you do not look within,
Then how do know it is empty to begin?
Nothing is something,
But something is not nothing.
A puzzle, is the breath carrying the words:
“This room is empty,
Move on, there is nothing to see here”…