There is a gap in this virtual life.
A black hole in the centre of perfection,
An absence in the heart of my world.
And perhaps this shadow, is for your silhouette to fill.
Or perhaps it is for teardrops and stardust instead.
Maybe the void gets filled by the journey.
Maybe this nothing needs to get broken. Reshaped. Reborn.
Perhaps it gets forged by the fire.
A burning passion, assuaged, a million one-nights.
But at times when I listen in silence
Or forget the worries and just laugh.
Forget my worries and let go.
SCREAMING out at the top of my lungs!
And wondering if it is not in the spaces instead,
Those gaps themselves, that are making me whole.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 3 December 2016
Made of sticks and stones 