Shadow

The Absence of Everything, which creeps,
Creeps up onto the table in my living room
Covers the ground at my feet
But can never creep on or cover me

There's no Sun, and the Absence of Everything
Is gone
Leaving the world grey and grim
But not me

Not me
I run around, chase it though it is gone
I laugh at it, kill it
Until only "I" is left

But my lesson is not yet learned
My hatred of this Absence of Everything
Not understood
I cannot see yet

I cannot see that this is me
That this Absence of Everything will never truly be gone
Only in grey days
And when I die, it will survive

Author's Note

Here goes another one, written about a year ago...

Reviews

[KAin]

... it's always a frightening thing when a writer puts nihilism into words. Who else can make the abyss seem so real? Who else can make the void feel so close?
The absence of everything, of the self, can be both liberating and terrifying - an invitation to an enormous nothing.
Well penned indeed!