The Empty Room

I am standing in
an empty room
furnished with dust,
must, and all the joys
that life brings me.

I am not sitting,
for I have no chair,
nor am I dreaming,
as I am not tired.

It doesn't look like there
is much to do here.

So what is it, then,
if this room is so empty,
that delights me so
much about this room?

There is nothing in
here, nothing at all.

Empty, listless, with
stark grey walls and cold
white lights like the
ones in an office building.

I derive pleasure not
from its contents, for
which it has none,
but rather the things

I could put in it --
the things that don't yet exist.