The Magic of Nothing

That which can grow can die,

That which can die is alive.

That which is alive is enteral.

That which is enteral is all.

That which is all is you.

That which is you is a universe

Knocking in your soul.

Your heart like a drum.

The earth a wooden and crisp stick.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Freedom is prepared to snatch you.

It will only hurt at first breath

Then, when you realize.

Flying is to walking.

As knowing is do dying.

You will sweat a great bucket

of illustrious regret.

Atop the sandy dune.

You are the breathing,

the sand,

and the air.

Let her dance all over you.

Your frozen nose.

Your sand riddled toes.

Your blue’d and black’d arms.

Your abolished and searching mind

And when you forget what you were.

She will wait, calm without care.

Tired of your incessant professing.

Of who you think you are.

Because when the magic came,

you reveled in forgetting.