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Many Nothings

A poem by Ian Digges

By Ian DPublished 3 years ago 1 min read
Many Nothings
Photo by Mads Schmidt Rasmussen on Unsplash

Then it all stopped

I breathed my last breath

From meaning came nothing

Until all has been and imagined

Is there time at all?

Simple minds filled with bliss

Tip of the illusion of a mountain

As the feather smashes it to pieces

We all bend in awe

Then forget it with purpose

So shall we all

*This is the end of the poem. The guidelines on this site require my poems are at least 100 words. Please write the website and ask them to change this policy. Send feedback and support my work by tipping if you feel moved. Thank you and much love!*

surreal poetry

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    Ian DWritten by Ian D

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