This is a poem about nothing

Nothing at all

Nothing et al


Nothing to go on the page, minute after minute

Hour after hour, nothing

That flatlined, catatonic, burnt-out kind of nothing

Where your nerves have been scoured and your emotions

Have been bled out of your arms

But this isn’t the 18th century

So there’s no surgeon with scalpel and pan

There’s nothing

Nothing at all



Is the most common response by teenagers when asked what happened




Sullen nothings, ironic nothings, repressed and resentful nothings

Angry nothings

Nothings that hold a war inside that armored word

And that word is anything but empty

Because if nothing is supposed to be a big vacuum

I think it’s time to change the bag

Because nothing can be pretty full

Like all those nights of forgotten promise

When nothing is the laconic response to what is there to do


Nothing at all

So many unrealized possibilities in so many lives

Filling all those nothings

With something


Sometimes something can be a sweet nothing

Think about that

Empty calories is kind of the same thing, usually

But some sweet nothings use charm and wit

To create a thing that certainly isn’t


Because sweet nothings lead to something else


Nothing doing

You can’t really do nothing

Because you still at least have to be

If you are you

You’re you, which is something not nothing

Not nothing at all


Nothing could be further from the truth

Since the truth is that nothing is ever nothing

Nothing is all

Nothing is all

Nothing is all

Not nothing at all

Not nothing



David Trudel  © 2013



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