There Must Be Something
There must be something
to hang onto amid this turmoil,
a small, flickering light at the end
of the dark to guide the way
or even a gentle nudge by some
caring angel to help right
a straying foot balanced
on a ledge.
But put your hand out
and there is only air.
That light ahead is the 8.30
barrelling through the underground
towards you. And the nudge
you feel is from the person
next to you in the carriage
as you tip half asleep
into the sanctity
of his private space.
That is not to say
there is nothing there,
but if there is, it is to be found
in ordinary things, the human,
the frail and the chaos
that sometimes careers
through each anxious life.
It must encompass
all that is unfair, the hurt
and the healing,
to speak in the sounds
and the silence
that is everywhere,
to curl around
a frightened soul
without letting you know
that it's there.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2022
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