Black Hole
It reveals itself
again,
As Winter’s reedy
grass recedes,
Down there, at the
foot of the fence,
A hole into a
blackness beyond,
Where creatures scurry
who knows whence.
A trail, a path so
obvious now -
Damp, dark and muddy,
Between the slats of
wood, a funnel,
Leading into the
undergrowth,
Entering a tangled natural
tunnel.
Deserted passage in
the day,
Abandoned so it
seems,
While ever there is
light,
But a busy feral
footpath,
And crowded highway throughout
the night.
Leaving the ordered,
The known and
familiar land,
Where garden crops are
sown,
The track-way dives
through the portal,
And disappears into an
unknown.
So my mind tends to
flow,
A blackness revealed
in Winter:
Bad thoughts,
tangled, confused,
A dark hole of
depression,
An old pathway,
well-used.
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