Pouring out


Well, maybe not everyone,

has made a little progress,

Forms hold them together,


And sizes,

They invented in their own mind,

The only thing that is

as it seems

is nothing.

Nothing cannot be anything,

So there is no need to fear,

Nothing is-

as it seems,

Because we are not really here,

We are sleeping,

In a bed of coal and ember,

Pouring our greater minds,


All over everything,

When we are nothing.

Blank out…

Don’t blanken the heart,

Because if we talk about love,

Then we are crazy.

Hatred is sane.

Only lunatics talk about love,

They set them in small,

Locked boxes,

And label them with terms

Which are only as real,


Love is everything,

We are nothing.

Here and now,

We are pouring out,

As fast as we can.

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