Saturday, September 22, 2007

Much Ado

If nothing else, Nothing’s plentiful.
The universe, to modern thought,
is full of it, a veritable
cornucopia of naught,

the matter that we take for All
a scant fraction of the whole,
including what we choose to call
“dark,” the mystery casserole

of particles we haven’t found,
grit we posit “Somewhere,”
lest good equations prove unsound.
Still, we know there’s Something there,

though even Something’s mostly not:
everything we see or touch
is virtually empty space; what’s
truly solid isn’t much.

Nothing grows at quite a clip:
the universe is fast expanding;
but sweet nothings from your lips
are truly Something, notwithstanding.


Minx said...

I do believe that there is nothing stronger than love to lighten the darkness.
A lovely poem, John, thank you.

Anonymous said...

ahhh to be able to reach out into vastness and encounter Something ...

a rare chance.
a happenstance.

who would not wish to posit complicated theorems to hold it:


a conundrum: ephemeral, elusive, solid and real.

my beloved anchors me even as the stars and moon rise above his head.

and the sun blazes red upon my face.