Ciphers

So much nothingness--
It doesn't help to reflect
That the universe, from atomic scale
To macrocosmic immensity,
Is a void, devoid of cohesive matter.
Likewise, we see each day all around us
An underabundance of sapient sums,
Though the human race is rife,
Ubiquitous, and saturates every last pore
Of this planet.
The number of zeros, hardly accruable,
Contributes only to census figures;
Their intrinsic value is always nil,
Regardless of how much we magnify
Their trivial nits, or double-count their emptiness,
For their fundamentals are bland and blank.
No original thought can stir in a vacuum,
A vacuousness that transcends schooling,
Exemplification, encouragement,
Exposure to light and fertile soil.
Like iron filings, they realign
With the strongest pulse or the latest fad,
But otherwise,
These motes are inert; they are non-reactive,
Self-contained specks, autonomous cells,
Complacent and insufferable naughts.