The Only Thing You Have

There's an empty space you carry around and mostly ignore. It doesn't cause much pain when thoughts are elsewhere or you are given facts to explain away the ache. Nothing more than an abandoned space once occupied by gods whose ghosts danced in the flickering light of an ancestral cave, a residual hollow left in the evolution of the brain. Yet it lingers, a constant niggle not confined to any one locale. You try and fill it with all kinds of tripe, an endless stream of goods carried on conveyors disappear down its throat. Fictions baked in the ovens of the human mind may satisfy for awhile but all eventually evaporate. There's still an empty space you carry around that you can't seem to fill. It sits at the center of your human lot, a nagging need to be cultivated and treasured in your deepest quiet. It's the only thing you have that draws you towards the shapeless gravity of an unknowable God or nothing at all.