"Mandala"

Eternal emptiness static,

It was said and it was done.

Fields of creation galactic,

All but a thought for His fun.

 

For He knew all of what was to come.

A world, devoid of promise and truth,

Cut down in the prime of youth.

Unaffected, comfortably numb.

 

Once more, emptiness eternal.

Returned to what was before.

All was but a thought internal.

After all, He can just make more.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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