Sink Hole

I stand up on the pedals

Hurtling down the street

Feeling invincible.

Always racing.

Never moving at a leisurely pace.

Everything squeezed in to extract all that can be drained from every hour, every minute.



The need to keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving.

Am I running away from something?

Am I blocking out the questions and the longings and the void?


Yes. I think I might be.


But ….


In the same way that a hole in the roof is repaired, to stop the rain falling in and the warmth escaping out

the puncture is mended

the hole in the trousers is patched

It is not the right thing to do?


If I cover the void (I will never fill the void)

won’t that be better?

It’s gaping emptiness won’t echo my own voice back to me.

It’s depths won’t call out to be explored.

If it is covered with a thin sheet of activity maybe I will forget?


Or do I have to stand on the edge of the void and look down.

call out and hear only my voice return to me.

place warning signs around the ages, and tread carefully.


Will it become like a sink-hole on the cliff edge?

One day the darkness will end as light breaks through from below.

no longer a void but a channel to something else.

To sea where once there was land.

To movement where once there was solid ground.


I wait for that day.

I long for that day.


Maybe, until then, I should travel more slowly

Let myself notice the views,

Enjoy the surroundings.

Believing that it is possible that one day

one day

I will look down into the void, and I will see the sea.



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