skitting across my consciousness,
a scene caught from the corner of my mind.
Wondering if what I see,
what I remember
is the truth?
the constant refusal of my mind
to acknowledge what I cannot find,
memories of a time long past.
Black holes exist
and the memories I do carry
are stories repeated
until they have become a steady verse.
Over the edge of the abyss I peer
seeking the bottom where one cannot exist
holding onto the hope
that things can become
steady and true
and no longer will I have to fear
the ghosts that haunt me.