The Place Where Nothing Matters
We wrote you into the spiderweb of our existence.
We bent you into the ladders of our DNA.
In the distance they twisted into a grand staircase.
One we have become far too afraid to ascend.
The brilliance of their steps eclipsed by our cupidity.
A desire to be the product of something omnipotent.
Alas, power cannot grow from the roots of stupidity.
But from the acceptance of life’s own insignificance.
The false silhouette that was always our own shadow.
Unrecognized simply because of the sunlight behind it.
Physics and reason were compromised by faith,
Yet restored by a step on the staircase of science.
Men drink vanity, greed and hatred like wine.
And gift diamonds harvested by children to their wives.
But there is no concern to the universe.
For no one is taken into account. .
If men only knew the absence of matter.
It surely is enough to woo and astound.
To it, those who pray are merely making noise.
Those who bomb are merely drumming.
Those who conquer are useless dreamers.
Those who dream are practically dead.
And those who have died are more useful.
In the place where nothing matters,
There’s really no need to stick around.