Nothing Rhymes, Nothing Reasons

 Nothing Rhymes, Nothing Reasons

 

Ideas spread in creeping spiders,

seeping out from the epicentre

from tangled fibre to tangled fibre.

Like black ink on blotting paper,

folded over and carbon copied,

overedged with nothing borders,

stamped with nothings frank.

Across the sea, far from there,

it troubles lads from Morrocco,

Sudanese faces, Palestinian hair,

asking questions: whats and hows,

as if a teacher would even know

why missiles fly and tanks roll.

When heat seeking ideas destroy,

raising the man, they kill the boy,

who once in petulant rage erased

a teacher's comments on the page.

History repeats in nothing changes,

it stays the same while rearranging

nothing senseless in nothing brains,

his argued madness underanged.

It’s hard to tell, you can’t be certain

of intent penned in twisted steel.

Deep behind aged iron curtains

springs forth from old sick minds

who push buttons, and cogs grind

out nothing reasons, nothing rhymes.