I was wondering what I should write.
Since nothing came to mind,
I simply typed.
As my thumb pressed ever so intently,
on the small letters displayed on my phone.
I knew,
at some point,
there would be a ride I'd be on.
That some thought would enter my mind,
creating waves of inspiring insight.
But when?
Still, I type.
Nothing.
Nothing profound.
No real emotion.
Not even a rhyme pattern to make it flow well.
One wonders,
why type?
Why write?
If thoughts are so inherently redundant?
If there's no actual subject?
It seems I simply must.
As,
I've become one that can only exist inside these words.
These seemingly useless words.
These words that describe absolutely nothing.
Yet, exist as everything.
Quite interesting it is to need these words.
To need to see every moment.
Placing each moment as something you could see forming.
Even this useless moment.
While I aimlessly type.
Typing for an end,
of this poem i write.
But, since this is about nothing.
An ending doesn't need to be
typed..
©lamarcus12
L