It is a void, an emptiness that
sits between the place we
are and where we’ve been.
The air is clear from here to
there, a barren scene of
nothingness residing in those
missing bits all sight unseen.
And memory shares no clarity
or leaves a trace of whence
we came; perhaps it hides a
vapid shame too sad to wear.
How and when we came to here,
from were and where to somewhere
near, or went by ways on routes
unclear we’re lost to say.
We view the missing way amused,
it’s nothing new – too pleased to
see that where we are is
where we truly want to be.
© I.D. Carswell 2007-01-27
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