The hole

 What disgusts me about this hole

Is not its dirt, or its moisture

It is its superficiality 

What enrages me is that I fell

And got wounded

In such a peripheral hole

Which the rainwater touches

The sun also touches 

And any animal passing by does too

But nothing really fills it up

Because there is no space

Enough for anything meaningful

It is empty, and as it seems

It probably would

Content itself with any material

Any shape or color

That lousily tried to cover 

Its pathetic hollow nature

After all

What maddens me

Is the deep disappointment

Over my own deluded eyes

Which for so long

Projected colors

Where there was nothing

Nothing but a shallow hole