Poems contain pictures
This poem has none.
They have feelings
This has but one.
No colors this time
No frills, no fancies.
Just an occasional rhyme
This poem has all things,
And no things still.
It’s simple in its fact of matter,
And complex in its afterthought,
As for depression, I’ve read sadder.
It’s not one extreme, either or
It’s this and that and those,
One poem with much less than more.
One thought.
Knowing only what it’s not.
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