the winter’s sky at midnight is a terrible thing
black as the ink that spills from my pen
abysmal in its depths like a black hole
a whirlpool of darkness
sucking from me all that is light

the winter stars have a cold and lifeless beauty
cutting like diamonds through the black
never illuminating, never giving relief
only pointing out the darkness
teasing me with what I cannot have

both reveal how small and insignificant
one single drop of ink must be
in a sea of black that has no shore
unnoticed, unrecognized, ignored
even when cast violently into its midst

both mock me, casting me into the void
of fear and anxiety that surrounds my soul
showing me the infinite stretching
of a universe without beginning or end
offering no hope of rest

neither proffers a promise of peace
no sense of safety surrounds me
leaving me to reach out desperately
to find no hand there to grasp mine
as I fall from the earth into the sky
 
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