Reaching through the darkness, searching for light.
Nothing is visible, even though it’s not night.
Surrounded by emptiness squeezing her tight,
There is nothing to save her, no reason to fight.
The sick, thick, blacker than blackness envelops her,
twisting and squeezing, tugging and weaving.
Stopping at nothing, it weaves itself into every fibre of her being.
No cell is safe, no molecule untouched.
Muscle turns to lead and guts turn to stone.
Blacker than blackness is bleeding through bone.
Muscles tear when they try to move; the weight is too great.
The weight of the pain.
Too great is the weight of the pain.
Blackness spills from every bone.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
She sinks into the pool of blacker than blackness.
There is nothing to save her, no reason to fight.
But there is one last reach from a dying muscle,
feeling its way through the blacker than blackness.
Oh, the weight of the pain.
So great is the weight of the pain.
Reaching through the darkness, she finds the light
Everything is visible, even though it is night.
Surrounded by life, hugging her tight
There is love to save her, every reason to fight.
Poem by me.
Photo courtesy of Pixabay.
