Nothingness, set me free Poem, by Frank Baugh, at My poetic side

O death what’s all of this noise of Thy sting?

Larger, Little, or great pains, all of them.

Bring on what more to us hast thou to bring?

Vanished! There’s naught — no more — of her or him.

They’ve vanished, gone, emptied ruins, flown nest.

Pursue us as if, to you, we mattered?

Thou wish to cling nothing to Thy cold breast?

By founts of life, our pitcher shattered!

We’re now dust. Grasp at us like fading smoke.

Our silver cord lies frayed and broken

In mud where lies the cistern wheel’s lost spoke,

We evaporate — our word spoken.

I was told by liars I have no plea,

Does that free me, that I was taught one’s choice?

But I must be what Thou made me to be.

But from nothing came I but by Thy Voice.

With what Word spoke “I AM,” creating

A creature whose forced thought filtered through fear.

No mind less or great can outside Thee be.

What was, dances in light, no eyes for tears.

Yes, drifting dust motes, in light dancing free,

Not here, or there but everywhere be we.

I am not lost, nor me, be, exactly,

But all in all from all completely see.

I will be me — but naught me — full empty.

Do I deserve Thine punishments scattered?

Matters it not Thou made me how to be?

I’m matter, as if to Thee that mattered,

Become from nothingness spoken by Thee.

In that nothingness I seek my release

From this confused hell of contradictions

Dost Thou allow none any rest or peace,

From Thy jottings of dire predelictions.

My “worn out tools” beside lie broken

I’m worn out. Nothing — wretched ugliness.

Ungrateful words, tear dust, all unspoken,

Into not-being, vacuum nothingness.

All I am, was, meant, assuredly spins

Off to nowhere, then there again begins,

Innocence dipped into sins once again.

An innocent dropped into sin again.

Symptoms of evident nothing's madness.

Nothing is grateful to not feel sadness.

‘Tis a mystery.

‘Tis but entropy.