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 It’s Not

It’s not the kiss, it’s the meaning of the kiss
It’s not the bliss, it’s the absence of bliss
It’s not the shit, it’s being buried in it
It’s not the pit, it’s falling into it
It’s not the sky, it’s the clouds that cover
It’s not the eye, it’s the blinded lover
It’s not the graves, it’s who they were
It’s not the waves, it’s how they allure
It’s not the end, it’s the journey there
It’s not the friend, it’s the love and care
It’s not the time, it’s what we’ve done
It’s not the rhyme, it’s how it begun
It’s not the visit, it’s the company brought
It’s not the ‘is it?’, it’s the answering thought
It’s not the hand, it’s what it wrote
It’s not the band, it’s how they spoke
It’s not the house, it’s the family inside
It’s not the mouse, it’s the cheese he finds
It’s not the solemn, it’s feeling nothing at all
It’s not the poem, it isn’t anything, anything at all