“the greatest war

that ever was,”

is an oxymoron.

 

the finest act

that no one has done

remains untold by someone.

 

and numbers don’t end,

nor will they begin,

not even with the number one.

 

that nothing is something

is one thing to count on –

an obvious oxymoron.

 

an effete in France

is more than one foot.

 

an effort,    an attempt –

a stab at the greatest!

 

but lose all in effort,

no matter how sad,

 

that was the greatest

that none ever had!

 

and two times nothing

always is something,

 

even if nothing at all.

 

since some sense

from nonsense

 

of the conscience becomes

a cognitive dissonance,

 

an oxymoron,

 

it’s not incidental,

the act of the mental,

 

a fact,

that cannot prevent it.

 

the language alive

must change to survive –

 

mutation creation

invents it.

 

if all left unsaid,

it remains to be dead:

 

something from nothing

redeems it.

 

 

 

 

©2013, Marvin Loyd Welborn

8 July 2013/revised 16July2013

 

Poem’s Score: 2.6