Out of something has become nothing,
Where this nothing acts like something.
It cannot be chosen, but comes from choosing.
With it you earn something, but only by loosing.
To attain it you must first fall,
But it cannot be really attained at all.
For it comes from the lack of something,
But this lack is really to us nothing.
It doesn’t grow on trees,
But it is said to have seeds.
Those who seek it find naught,
But somehow they are by it caught.
It deceives and plays a beautiful reverie,
Where nothing lives and nothing will be.
Like a shadow it plays upon the bright days,
And for some it comforts them in its ways.
It is a fools pursuit to seek that which isn’t,
And that which will be found impertinent.
Do you know of that which I speak,
In a form of tongue and cheek?
It will not be found no matter how hard you look,
But you will see what it does, and who it overtook.