Not Nada

For some reason, I went to sleep last night thinking about Ernest Hemmingway's refrain in The Sun Also Rises, which I read in high school.  Then, I wrote this when I woke up.

Nada, nada, y mas nada.
I won't tolerate any of that sentimental B.S.
These are the words of one who has exhausted pleasure.
These are the words of one who has become lost in his own recesses and can't see past the fog of his own being.
These are the words of one who has turned away from our hurting, singing, bleeding, laughing, loving world.
These are the worlds of one who has become lost in the rot of war, lost in the endless train of adventure, lost in the rejection of morals for personal pleasure, lost and without hope of ever finding one's way again.
These are the words of one who does not know God or experience his True North or feel his arms of love or see his flow of grace through us and to another and back again.
These are the words of one who has no hope of final justice and goodness.

No, not: nada, nada, y mas nada.

But beauty and joy and pain and healing.
   Justice and redemption and restoration.
   Peace and grace and mercy.
   Amor, amor, y mas amor.