Nothing Much

Miss Cynthia By Travis Louie
Travis Louie

I am only the implication

Of a truth not yet composed.

Wherever there are statues

There are hearts that coincide.

Every morning another reaper

Finds his mark, it no longer matters

If the target still walks so long

As the eyes can be held down.

Maybe we are all the better part

Of nothing much and maybe

We are fine most of the time

But some days never begin

No matter how avid the adieu.


A quick one from me. This weekend will be hectic and then Monday I have the inspection I will try to write new poems if time permits.