Nothing Yet Everything

I don't know

whether anything fits the bill

the coyote blue sky

the quilt cover of clouds

the verdant velvety greens

the squirreling pathway

the fallen frizzled leaf

Sometimes a story

of human deprivation

callous cruel catalytic

strikes hard

like a water filled balloon

settles somewhere deep

rattling raking rocking

but doesn't evoke the need

to regurgitate

in cadence or concern

It's much much later 

only when my own

peeves dredge up

from somewhere inside

that those concentric gibberish

groove in circles

rounder and rounder

deeper and deeper

darker and darker

cluttered

labyranthine 

that the groans

seek word

but never enough

but never so satiating

to empty me out

like a vacated room

or a deserted desolate citadel

where once lit up .... joyous jugglery

And sometimes

it's just nothing

merely

gliding by

in Metro

or an open window 

of a rickety coach or cab

the wind swishing past

caressing chiffony

crooning humming murmuring

fragrances 

wistful woeful icy whimpering

remembrances

yet not quite there

Or just a pair of crows cawing

bickering over a squishy piece of 

pedigree 

Nothing fits the bill

nothing

or perhaps

everything 

Shared with PoetsandStorytellersUnited