Something Forged Of Nothing
A poem
Published in
Jun 29, 2021
The weight, though an illusion is still heavy; the sorrow, though unseen is still felt.
What night could darken my faith?
What eyes shall subtle the truth?
What tears would reveal my ruth?
Which heart could survive it through?
Carrying the weight of no density,
Carrying screams with no voices,
Carrying frenzies of no motion,
Carrying conclusions of no causes.
Which way should be led?
Which question to be heeded?
Which part to be first affixed?
Which woe should be halted?
No face of grief,
No face of blithe.
No hope to define — a proof,
No hope of peace — a respite.
2021
