The Man Who Came With Nothing Poem by Way Lenn

So I lay my hands, flat, upturned and unhurried;
An open gesture, maybe of surrender,
Showing the absence of anything carried.

Wood traced its swirling patterns in my palms,
‘Cause people chose to see nothing, not even hands.

The man who came to offer nothing,
But just came to sit.
While all around me brandished colour,
I came to dull the light from it;
While all around me harmonised,
I came to ruin the key a bit.

As I sat at the table
Ingrained in thought
And knotted stomach;
All it was: I came with nothing.

A prop, a backdrop, part of the furniture;
Someone to be regarded but not to be engaged;
A vase without the flowers, a stage without the plays.
I sat there all the same, not seeking acceptance or blame.

Not singing but ruining song,
Not bringing colour but delaying dawn.
This game of chess, I am the pawn.

And all because I came with nothing.