Ex Atoma

Mereological nihilism, it’s what’s for dinner.

Look there, at no dusk air, no fiery band

that traces summits far - no twilight there!

‘Hind us, no night sky that would now expand

‘cross us. The brightest sphere, spot that great flare?

Hear me closer; ‘twas never truly there.

There’s no soil ‘neath or clouds at all above.

No engines of man too: his mirth, despair.

No children live, no laughs, no sounds thereof.

No fruits exist. No seasons are, nor love.

No words, no flaws, no worth. No halves of two,

no thirds, no cause, no Earth. No things made of.

A secret creeps, cruelly whispers, “No you.”

The tiny dancers, they solely are real.

They bound, twirl, are artful, but do not feel.

Author's Note

It's years old, but I never got around to posting it. I suspect the iambs are inconsistent in places, and I don't remember if that was intentional.

Reviews

[emipoemi]

You have some very powerful images and some very juicy lines, but quite frankly, a sonnet with a mix of iambs and non-iambs doesn't quite read well. So if you had the intention of making the lines all in iambs, I would suggest to strive to make the whole sonnet flow with the iambic feet. Or, a tad easier, rework the lines so that it relies on the musicality of the lines themselves rather than the rhythm of the iambs (that way you don't have that much of a risk of losing some of the juiciest lines of this poem).

Good start overall.

[Ellay]

Wow, this is really good :D Like a work of art, my friend