Sunday Whirl #332
The Mighty Nothing
Ditch truth, tell only rumors.
Boil before serving.
Nothing real is as mighty as something
you hear on the grapevine.
The seams of your age-old wound
are the only reminder of the sliver that pierced your cheek.
The memory is almost lost in the middle of glorious light.
Your tears streak down to nothingness.
© 2018, MK
If you want to check the original post, you can visit the site. There are other poems written on that prompt – you may like them, also.