The whoness of me? <br />The whyness of questions? <br />The whatness of all this? <br />and then; <br /> <br />the wheness of answers, <br />where is the answer? <br />In the nowness of now? <br /> <br />I looked everywhere <br />and found nothingness <br />under a magic carpet <br />woven from golden threads of thought. <br /> <br />What mystery in a ticking mantle clock <br />the meek and mighty enslaved <br />by such small hands that wind up youth <br />and spew it forth as shrivelled flesh. <br /> <br />The shaft of sunlight <br />revealed the floating specks of dust <br />across an empty room <br />as they float on air. <br /> <br />No one is here <br />only I, dust and light <br />as the clock ticks <br />from now to now; <br /> <br />until it stops. <br /> <br />The framed photographs smile <br />trapped behind glass <br />I smile and join them <br />knowing I am not really here <br />or there.<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sitting-in-an-empty-room/
