General Kin

General Kin

Nothing really matters,
and it all happens for a reason.

The new moon is really full
behind the glowing darkness.
The general is such a major
finding, yet not so special.

Then reality isn’t really real,
and thus we were frightened
by the intersection of the train tracks,
traveling like light, down the trail of time.

The smallest part divides
into a trillion smaller pieces,
comprised of an entirety,
a trillion pieces to tag and name.

There we, merely matter, hurling
through the empty place that was
once the end of infinity, held there
by the empty unlimited supply of space.

If space was love, my mind
would be the moon, and my heart
the earth, and God the sun.
And there would be no other.

For nothing really matters,
and it all happens for a reason.