Relative Something

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Mystery radiates from everything
filling a void most choose to ignore
lightly dusting echoes with possibility
triggering that hint of a sneeze
asking for nothing
expecting even less
waiting for the evening
of our days
when you are long gone
though, you were never even here
just a figment of imagination
made real by possibility
and repetition
false memory
as credible as belief
a platform from which to dive
into the unknown
naked and alone
holding hope
and using it to float
past all the rest
of everything that doesn’t matter
happening every day
letting the ever-changing daylight
paint the backdrop of inner space
deeper shades of each unknown
effortlessly
without a hint or clue
quietly
as if not to awaken
some logical reference
to concrete and sequence
a genuine happiness
waiting to gently alight
from somewhere out of view
a phantom itch
that needs a scratch
… a void
that mystery gladly fills

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