Reads: 377  | Likes: 1  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

It has not had the name

Because it has never been.

The nothing has ever born

Like emptiness of infinity.


All the feelings and thoughts

Are collapsed here

To the size of the



Echo of silence mutely

Spreads unavailability

To touch whatever usual,

Or to hear any familiar.


Neither truth here, no falsity.  

Forgiveness is absent

As same as

Meetings or partings.


No lightness and no darkness.



Submitted: June 22, 2019

© Copyright 2022 Gear. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:


tom mcmullen

This is a bit of a paradox Gear, describing that which can't be described. I liked it!

Sun, June 23rd, 2019 5:49am


Thank you, my friend

Sun, June 23rd, 2019 12:13pm

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