‘The idea of nothingness and emptiness is important in Beckett’s work’

What is nothing?
What is empty?
Empty can’t be nothing.
Nothing isn’t empty.

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17.11.11

I,

Until that night,
Ignorant
Of how Nature
Winds its hours out of sight.
Its rope,
Universal,
Pulls perversely
On the benign hum of time.
Softly,
It beckons a better day.

But if all the fine
Balance of Time
Rests this slight,
Is Ignorance yet
Out of sight?
The only light corners
Of our minds
The ones made light
For us.

26.09.11

Our embers rest,
For now content,
And not to be extinguished.

Their place reserved:
A blind spot, quiet.
They sigh to be reminded.

Confronts them, though,
In moments closed:
Benign and weightless memory.

Our ashes try,
resynthesise,
their light not yet diminished.

26.08.11

Fleshing out a slumber
In the solace of the night.
A gentle sweat glides
The question in your dreams.
A seamless landscape
Best kept
Within the silence of your sleep.