Untitled No.40 Poem by Leon Moon

Empty, full, one side and so sideless,
Degradations of the Sun, the worm of light
Climaxing our paralysation —
Sickening, delightfully tragic,
How was the will to question invented?
I believe the answer is too obvious to face,
Too tragic to conceive as the truth
Of our creation.

In every possible way ‘why' is the bane
Of our existence —
The causation of resistance
And the enchantment vilifying
The beauty of continuance —
I believed in death, once.
I could tell you how it felt to fall,
How I knew, the only stuttering
To be heard and thought of
Was in my blood, awaiting oxygen
And a wrinkle to fill into —
I wish I never knew words,
I wish I died as a child,
Why was I chosen at all?

Empty, full, one side and so sideless,
Degradations of the Sun, the worm of light
Climaxing our paralysation —
Sickening, delightfully tragic,
The bane of our existence,
The horror of continuance! …

The answer is too obvious to face,
Too tragic to conceive as the truth
Of our creation…