The Hole

Found this poem I wrote when I was 19.

The Hole
Inside my soul is an empty hole,
An empty hole,
An empty hole.
In that hole is a great desire,
A great desire to fill up that hole.
I fed the empty hole.
I fed it money.
I fed it toys.
I fed it pleasures.
I fed it beauty.
I fed it joys.
I fed it friends.
I fed it. I fed it.
Oh, but the hole still grew larger.
It grew larger until it was eating my soul.
I don't want to be a hole.
I want to be whole.
This hole was hungry.
It can devour anything it wishes.
It ate everything.
However, it never seems to be satisfied.
Never satisfied. Never.
Now it wants to eat me!
Then my soul cried out.
My soul cried out for help.
"Someone, please rescue me from this hole!"
No one answered.
My soul cried one more time.
"Anyone, out there, please help me!"
Then a hand reached out to save me.
I held on that hand.
I held tight.
I held with all my might.
I opened my eyes and I was whole.
"Who are you?" I asked my hero.
"How did you get rid of the hole?" I continued.
"You mean this hole?" He replied.
I looked at both his hands and they each had a hole.
He took my hole. He took my hole.
He took my hole and made me whole.
Then I asked one last question,
"Who are you?"
He answered, "Call me, Jesus."




pic from:
Thomas M / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0