Whole hole

An Incomplete wholeness.

Our missing pieces are anchors through time,
Tying us to the yet to be.

Moving forward means leaving a piece of us to chance.
Where we cannot come close to it in time, feeling, or certainty.

Progress requires an empty space,
A hole,
Where the gasses of anticipation and anxiety settle.

The need to see forward,
Takes a piece of us
And throws it in front of our eyes and out of our reach.

Striving perpetually in forward motion.
Treading threads of hopes and fears,
Hoping to bring the space between you and it to a close.

This incomplete self stretched out through time feels fragmented,
Yet unaware of its true wholeness.  

Masked by the pains of running the game of progression,
A true nature remains veiled to ensure the proper pace is kept.
We march to this beat for the sake of itself.

A wholeness unseen.
A wholeness unfelt.
Nevertheless, a true wholeness.

A w-HOLE-ness incomplete.