Darkness, do you not see
That blinded humans live in thee
They grope and fight and blink and strain
In search of bed or chair or ledge
To sit and rest like blood in vein

But no they rush and churn and turn
And swirl within themselves in vain
For what they seek is light itself
And inside them is none of this
‘cept deep within, the centerpiece
Which ticks and beats like
All of This
This life, This vase, This colonnade
This coronet, This dying age
These age-old terms affixed to page
No not in mind, but only book
Is where these words sustain

For without books and languages
We would not have a way to think
Except for mental images
And Darkness, bastard that you are
Takes even them away from me

And so I sit
Crippled, weak
Head bowed
Not praying
Merely, asleep