I have nothing, need I more?I sit alone
and marvel at my place in all of this
So strange to think of all the chaos felt by more 'interesting' things
That I could relatively feel such bliss.
I have nothing.
But 'nothing' never hurts me, never fractures, never bleeds
The stillness left by absence makes even 'nothing' seem complete
The bloom of peace is never plucked when strangled by the war of weeds.
Always seen, never noticed.
With nothing, what have I to hide?
No day. No Night. No reason to avoid the light.
Why care that no one looks at me before the brighter ones at either side?
To me, they are small.
At least smaller than they
could be.
They pass by crackling with energy, but they seem blue.
While I am content, they never truly are, from what I see.
