I have a hole in me.
A little empty space,
A tiny whispering plea.
Small, slithering lines of black,
scaring as they go,
this unprotected little sack of soul.
The plod drags on,
a doom set into gold.
My hope not yet been shod,
cannot run to light,
but claws at my heart,
my hope no chance to start.
Yet within this blackness you come to me,
and hold a hand up to the hole.
You see an empty sea,
of despair within, something you can soothe.
You fill the hole with a blinding white light,
of joy to calm my soul.