A Hole in Time

Your feet are on solid ground. Firm. Comfortable.
Real. It is something you can count on.
Not broken. Eternal.

But there is a hole in time.
New ghosts fly around you with feathers.
They tickle your nose. Tweak your ears, play music.

Strange music you barely hear,
their strains so soft, you lean forward into them,
wanting to rid yourself of this chaos by understanding.

But ghosts do not work that way. Especially new ones.
They delight in your confusion,
like children with a secret. Giggling.

About this poem

Know when something is on the edge of your mind, something new, but you can not quite capture it? Something as important as it is elusive?

That.

Tom

PS: The picture is of one of my paintings, titled “A Hole in Time.” Just like the poem.