The Pantoum of Nothing
Brandon Morey
She sits in her chair with the wiry frame.
She sings a song of chaos and woe.
She sings of the tempest, its wrath on the earth.
She sings for the children, gathered about.
She sings a song of chaos and woe.
She sings of Entropy, Atrophy, and the Last.
She sings for the children, gathered about.
At her feet, they see future, present and past.
She sings of Entropy, Atrophy, and the Last.
She sings about the End;
At her feet, They see future, present and past.
The wiry frame begins to bend,
As she sings about the End.
She looks into the face of God,
And her wiry frame doth bend.
Reflected back, she sees herself.
As she looks into the face of God,
She finds she must recoil:
Reflected back, she sees herself:
She is the lacuna coil.
Aback, she must recoil.
She is our worry, and our refrain.
She is the vacant coil.
She is all our fears, and all our pains.
She is our worry; she is our refrain.
She is nothing; she is THE.
She is all our fears, and all our pains.
She is nothing; she is THE.
She is NOTHING. She is everything we fear.
She sings of the Tempest, its wrath on the earth,
But she is NOTHING. She is our own manifest dread.
She sits in the chair with the wiry frame.
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