Missing [sonnet]
A hole exists beyond all ozone thoughts
which, I confess, did take me by surprise.
An empty iceful chasm come to naught;
I watch and gasp but won’t believe my eyes.
The more I look the larger it becomes
but not because it merely seems that way;
no optical illusion to be shunned,
no magnet pull to make me want to stay.
I thought the hole would boundlessly be deep,
chock-full of treasure trove and ancient dreams.
Instead I found it strangely incomplete;
no waterfalls or mermaids — just Snow Queens.
Although there’s beauty, vast amounts of space,
grace and passion are missing from this place.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 