The empty magician sat in his empty, vast, stall.

Well, step right in! Come one, come all!

And as we peered over, what did we see

But nothingness grown from a nothingness tree. 

We sat in seats made of hollow wood,

The darkness grew, and the magician stood

There wasn't a thing around him; aside from us

And if into the void you squinted, maybe a little void dust. 

We watched him wait, tall and proud

And wondered what we dare not say aloud.

For what could he give us, in this deserted land,

But vacancy, served from a vacant hand?

So we waited and watched, for that inevitable fail

And jeered and laughed till our screams turned frail.

The magician spun, and our voices were still,

My neglected ribs opened; my neglected cries shrill. 

The darkness collapsed into green and red

The dust swelled as though it had been fed

And in every little part of me that I thought I knew

The starkness hummed; and the starkness grew. 

The world exploded, is what they say

and created colors brighter than the light of day.

But as the universe stilled, the dust began to fall,

The empty magician sat in his empty, little, stall.