A Poem About Emptiness Poem by RIC BASTASA

there is word that is written
and it does not stop there as a word
it becomes a syllable
it wriggles and duplicates itself like
a viral infection
(sadly, for this may be the cause of death
and suffering)
and having translated itself into
a multiplicand
it threatens you with bifocal words
acquiring a scent and sound
a siren's call
the sound of the broken shell losing its voice
(not the wind, do not intrigue the wind
with this
for it's free and indifferent
to its independence)
speak about the sea and the waves that
it is giving
all for free and a show of hellos and goodbyes
of to and fro
of come and go
(this may make sense now)
it is a journey never ending
pretending to finish it on the shore
but no
it simply reaches there and leave a mark
of the blankness of the sand
wet and dries again
the laps of the land
which also makes a gimmick of its own
mimicking the sea
it throws the sands back to it
kisses it too
and then goes back to its still state
staring but not really minding what is too ordinary
to behold
this union and separation
this thing that happens all the time
seemingly
there is no joy in this
not even sorrow
just a repetition of what must happen
and what shall happen all over again
it is never ending
a circle
much like a hole
this emptiness that God only fills.