nothingness and vastness
between the silence
of two seas.
Being exhaustive
and then omitting from exhaustion
the limbo of all the drowned words—
existence riven,
or absolute erasure; you,
drink in the collapse
and breathe out the abyss:
fatalistic waves breaking
the sea against the cliffs
—and then back
[, again, dissolved into ruins of chaos]
A captive, owned soul,
perceiving the unbound, endless void;
haunted by the place where nature pierces the chest,
from there, remembering how it feels to inhabit
the hollow from which the heart crumbles,
the wordless hollow,
as nothing sustains it anymore,
as nothingness implodes, colliding within itself,
as all futility reaches anywhere but nowhere.
This absence of the urge
for anything or for everything
that never needed anything to be.
The void filling its rightful place,
this center, vesselled with no-words,
how could they possess them?—the words,
to become the breeze that reaches an end:
ink falling, trying to,
only to be embraced on the page,
as the act of leaving
everything, everything and everything,
behind, again and again
—again, anything
dissolved into ruins of chaos.
Will someone be there?
Where questions and answers
are made of the symphony of this silence
cultivated from two seas:
the heart and the void,
looking for each other,
imploring a truce,
speaking nothing but their fall:
a void left untended,
and a tomb for the heart,
both, screaming,
«the heart for the void»,
yours for mine:
the feeling of grasping all the sand,
all the water,
all the skies at once,
to feel as though the only rose
had never been here at all,
nor between them but preserved
in the hollow of the abyss
as a crystallized rose,
bathed in gold,
just as its essence is riven into pieces,
fading away to carve a different silhouette,
now melted into its own pure liquid,
—again, dissolved into ruins of chaos—
slipping away from their own nature,
yet precipitating like an eternal filament of gold,
transfigured from that eruption,
crackling a resurrect sunrise
from the void itself,
and the heart leaving itself
between these two seas,
two rivers, or two souls
and whatever might survive them
–rising or collapsing within or without,
from them, from there,
only to be dissolved into new ruins of chaos.
The lights go off,
and the music blooms again.
Always does.