Beneath my Doubt lies the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle

Just about out of reach.

Where Certainty used to rest,

There now stands a rocking chair

That patiently listens to my stuttering questions

Before nodding in an almost hypnotic refrain.

Hanging behind my fears are the What ifs

All tangled up as one with the What if nots

A wretched knot of impossibilities and probabilities

Each masquerading as the other.

I can just about make out the sound of my indefatigable passion

Bubbling furiously in a rusted pot on the stove

While the faint smell of burning lingers suggestively…

What am i to do with you? i think loudly to no-one in particular

Before pushing the last thread of hope deep down into my jacket pocket

And heading once more out the back door.

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[For another poem titled ‘Instagrave’, click here]