Something was missing,
like the slender space left
when a book is removed from its shelf.
The adjacent parts of his life
remained upright, but unstable,
exposed.
Did someone steal these
pages from his life
or did they self-implode?
Did they disintegrate
from lack of use,
or maybe they were never there at all.
If nature abhors a vacuum,
this void in his life
is only temporary.
Fill it with love,
with happiness,
with good books,
with good friends,
with reams of poetry,
with music,
with compassion,
with tenderness,
with...
Ah, I've run out of space.
Sonny Rainshine
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lost-and-found-in-space/
