“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