Waiting in Hollowed Nothing

Awaiting signs that never come

Photo by Juan Davila on Unsplash

With my Self tied in knots,
stomach roiling,
toiling upon its emptiness,

I wait-out the abyss’
abysmal brink,

hoping they flinch
before I blink,

for it’s my nature to think
until compelled by providence
to act

– that fate must launch an attack
so that I might react to it,

feeling a threat go left
so that I can break right,

shaking the daylight out of audacity,
as I’m attuned to my
counterpuncher’s chance,

as long as there is something
tangible to counter,

but waiting for nothing to happen
as it happens upon a nothing
feels like falling halfway from
infinity divisible by zero

– no handholds to grasp,
no strike to defend,
no interaction to blend,
no infraction to make amends,

there is only this descent
into madness of inaction

as nothing begats
more stillborn nothing

as I await signs that never come
in this sublime deprivation
of nullified manifestation
of blunted blows affecting none

as even my screams won’t come
to shatter sound and scatter light
to gather bearings upon the sighted
brink of horizons I fear
I’m never meant to reach, unless

– wait – what if waiting in hollowed nothing
yields only what is drawn within it,

inhale to exhale,
breath by breath,
moment by moment,

and fortune favors the stronger who – shh!

Be silent.

Be still.

Just wait a moment longer…

© BJ Dawson — 2025

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Oh yeah, and I published a book! What is it about? What an attractive question!