It's Nothing Really Poem by eve Taylor

What of us,

can be defined?

——-

Is it our self worth?

For what are we worth?

If nothing but,

our sometimes word.

——-

Is it our possessions?

For that which we possess?

Simply trinkets,

we truly can't contain.

——-

Is it our hearts?

For are they purely pure?

Purely not,

without a thought.

——-

Is it our eyes?

For what may they spy?

Decays of lies,

as a world resolves to die.

——-

Perhaps,

it's nothing really,

as the reality.