Nothing comes, and here it is
not of love, and not of tryst
not quite small, and not quite big
without a cause, this nothing is
Flighting sparks, now nothing burns
surging dark, this nothing churns
in turn, a hark, a star revels
this nothing has become a pulse

Lightning, fires, the planet mound
lights transpire, the cells abound
to dance upon the lifeless ground
Promise not, in mindless speak
if one is hot, the rest are weak
as pledges rot, with tongue in cheek
fury finds no place to sleep
In light, dire, the cells abound
to kiss, to curse, the dirty ground
enlightened, tired, not one is found
for what we seek is all around

Should we die, our hearts arrest
an act of war, I would attest
feast on walls, let bygones rest
what we abhor is but our nest
Claim parlay, be free and wild
burned textile, to flesh, a gun
break away, my youngest child
the river Nile has all but won

Steeples gone, up rise the spires
conscious longs, the mind entire
in answer to the nightly fires
Passing time, from dusk to dawn
skies align, the heavens call
sailing on, the days are gone
knowledge grows from none to all
Conscious throngs, the mind is tired
therein bursts the nightly fires
nothings gong, the thought inspired
the time has come—the thought expires