Crevices

We are filled with holes.

Crevices, fissures,

echoing cries. Souls,

afraid and unsure

of the way forward.

Fetal-curled, sobbing,

heart shredded by shards,

“I beg, complete me!”

To whom do you plead?

Your Soul is not theirs.

Spackled or mortared,

your holes to repair.


© CGT, 2017.

Talk to me.