— a poem by potpourris.
Nada. Not A Thing.
It’ll all be for nothing, indeed.
Published in
Oct 17, 2021
What is solace, if not love discreetly speaking?
Soundlessly reassuring in the bleakest of weather
with every word lingering through and through?
What is grief if not love persevering?
The unspoken guarantee that memories will prevail;
A promise to water the flowers each and every day.
What is decency if not love settling,
acceptance if not love slowly blooming,
What is anger if not love insulating
and disappointment if not love contradicting?
What value does everything hold
without the littlest atom of love, surrounding;
wrapped all tight in between?
