Sitting In An Empty Room Poem by David Taylor

The whoness of me?
The whyness of questions?
The whatness of all this?
and then;

the wheness of answers,
where is the answer?
In the nowness of now?

I looked everywhere
and found nothingness
under a magic carpet
woven from golden threads of thought.

What mystery in a ticking mantle clock
the meek and mighty enslaved
by such small hands that wind up youth
and spew it forth as shrivelled flesh.

The shaft of sunlight
revealed the floating specks of dust
across an empty room
as they float on air.

No one is here
only I, dust and light
as the clock ticks
from now to now;

until it stops.

The framed photographs smile
trapped behind glass
I smile and join them
knowing I am not really here
or there.