mourning the loss of what couldn't be....a semantic contradiction, yes...an emptiness, out of tune.....a void of circumstance.....
more painful than the loss of what was....
a knife twisting in the air...
tearing, gutting the nothing....
the thing itself...the not...the no....
searching
blindfolded and inept for an escape from what isn't? .
nothing tangible but the nothing itself..........
to
turn to the somethings of avoidance...of temporary comforts.......of broken wholes and love in dark corners.....
stuffed playthings,
statuary and disjointed nomens.....
though
nothing displaces the nothing....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
by no means a 'crisis of faith'......just an inability to live with certain all-too-real circumstances......so I pour it out here in this make-believe microcosm.....without specific references.....unwavering in my solipsism...and in an offhand manner, appreciating yours '>) ......now, back to poetry.....