writing about nothing at all

i try to write but nothing comes out
i try and try and leaves start to sprout
i wave them away in ridicule
but they entangle me in the slow-mo duel

two thousand years passed and still i write
around me little beings lived and died
i watched them grow i watched them fight
i even watched them discover light

then i knew what i'd to pen
why hadn't i thought of it then
it's this frenzy this lust for strife
this poison that accompanies life

but then i noticed that if i moved
their houses would fall and they'd be food
for nature's creatures; ants to - something tall
and i'd be writing about nothing at all