There’s nothing quite like nothing;
nothing will ever be.
If I were to be nothing;
nothing would be like me.
But nothing’s a world all its own;
so is it nothing’s father;
or maybe it’s nothing’s home?
Don’t even figure; don’t bother.
Nothing is a physical world,
exploding into being;
starting out as nothing;
and becoming everything.
How can something start as nothing?
Nothing ever does.
But nothing often comes from something;
it most assuradly was.
Nothing’s enigmatic;
while some say “nothing’s changed”;
others are quite emphatic,
saying, “nothing’s been rearranged”.
Some say nothing’s empty;
it never gets its fill;
nothing’s found inside it;
nothing ever will.
If nothing was sprayed with paint,
the color wouldn’t matter.
Results would be quite quaint,
as you watched the paint drops scatter.
In an empty room, I grabbed the door;
with nothing left in sight;
I called out loudly, almost a roar;
“When you leave, please turn out the light!”