Monday, October 22, 2012

Nothing Matters, a poem


Nothing matters, I tell myself
as many times a day as needed
like taking aspirin each four hours
for the chronic pain of life.

Nothing matters, I say, and it
is or isn’t true and that
doesn’t matter either, does it?
A mantra of indifference weaves

the hours together, pages of
my daily office, read in duty
and allowed to pass. Tomorrow will be
and I murmur, nothing matters.

Stephen Brooke ©2012

I think of my poems as being spoken by characters in a novel. They are not 'me' in any direct sense but explorations of different points of view. I may or may not agree with them and I'm not telling which is which. That's how art works.

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