The Truth

I'd hate to say,
“It was all for nothing”
But the truth is:
“Nothing is all it is.”
A blank, solid canvas,
“That amounts to some nothing.”
Nobody to inevitably preach
“And nothing to ever gain.”
Until we sault over,
“To see nothing but shrinks.”
Only to be told,
“There is nothing that'll fix”
Pained, battered, broken people
“When there's clearly nothing there.”

A Lie

Is that,
Everything is fine
And dandy
Lions are feasting
On what remains
Of your soul.
It ends,
When it does
'Nt all
These pretty things
Remain so heavy.
In your mind.

Cianan Mitchell is a Creative Writing Graduate who spent his childhood in Northern Ireland. His first publication was the poem 'Ice In May' for Fountain of Ink. Now he spends his time trying to finish his various multimedia projects, only to give up and write poetry.