SOME NOTHINGSOME

I write of something
That is of no thing
Yet to fill to full
Without a thing at all
100% of nothing, totally bare
Lacking sustenance, however full to the brim with air
If all content was spilt?
Would one be content to lose absolute zilch?
Often with one's there are zeros
Data for one to zero in…
Before all resets to zeroes to once again begin…
A glitch that can result as nada
A blip completely blank on radar
Unable to detect
A spectacular infinitesimal speck
What if you were given a six-figure sum?
What if all six digits did not add up to even one?
What would it feel like to have won nil?
Well there's a world of people that believe empty promises will be fulfilled
Drawn out results to under minus
Times of division don't add, too nonplus
Subtract what the multi plies, equals nowt
Totally famished due to drought
An entity emptied of entirety breezes through, no more than a draught
Like the haunting approach of a hooded figure… gliding in silence scything along its path
To see the gaunt being reaped
Amidst the sea of souls left with naught to call, no longer breathe
Have not a thing, to lean, no body left, wholly devoured
Mother Earth reclaims the many children she had once flowered
Leaving not even a whit in her wake as she frees souls off their mortal armour
The wit whittles away without its humour
To the material things you have knot
On the last exhalation these things will represent diddlysquat
All have had many o' chance to re-present themselves
Yet the many forsake the path of the cosmic realm
A shutout you ought not have blank
For transient materials you sought to bank
On the other side these 'things' don't emerge as protective shielding
The real presence shall be the essence that is left wielding
One will only find oneself submerged
In a sinking feeling knowing a life diverged

Drowning because you went overboard
Before you… see the void
To which you are a mere speck on a vast galactic voyage
Filled with so called empty space
Yet so ridiculously overwhelming
Baring all
No way to fill it
The hollow is there
With or without air
Try filling the empty head
Of the trifling empty-head
Standing fully behind someone
Who is standing fully behind you?
It only works if you stand back to back to defend each from behind
Do not turn your back leaving another defenceless, unable to spot where they maybe blind
For you see also with too can be for
When it's leaning on it's against
So who is truly watching your back?
Those full of tales
Often tell tales of emptiness
Tailing those who tailored fabricated tales to suit
Holey is holy… wholly the poorly filler on the hole
All falls apart if you place the papal over the whole crack
Between good and evil witness a coeval lose to indecent
Under values truth in justice
Lies values under a con sent
That bought consent
With the over values of a con cent
Green has the aroma that a con scents…
With greed that con senses to the consensus
Totally outnumbering the sum of the priceless conscientious
Realise the real lies will show signs that are distinct
This is an instance
Of the many continuous instants to trust your instinct
Creation is mixed reaction in action
Cerated for the created to be catered
With a world stage to act on
Yet who performs badly?
That direct credit goes to man
Thought the savvy ages through the ages?
Yet societies manages to be managed by its savages
Even as man ages through times that wore
The age’s man has lived and yet to live
There will always be war
Some say right time will come for man to do good before he's bereft
Could that be because some fear that the right time has already left?
Time
The hysterical historical repeats, each and every day a continuous once
Time never runs out
Yet you can run out of time
Can never run off time
Cease to exist
Become 'the late'
You exit on time
Some heed the fact that time stands still for no being
Its always today tomorrow never comes
Now present, existing futures of pasts forgotten
Where wondrous feats have been done
Now pit fools lacking knowledge… governance over societies is pitiful
To have no ledge you may step to far into the pitfalls
Of now soiled land to recede then yield
Once toiled land to reseed then yield
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Hubbs

Hubbs is a Londoner looking beyond written 'histories' for truths untold more…

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"SOME NOTHINGSOME" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 21 Nov. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/50622/some-nothingsome>.

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