it seems there exists some uneasy
truce, a fragile pact,
which quickly wanes as
the passing shadows of cloud
blacken and shroud
your glorious light, which,
for now, cuts right through
the heavy darkness,
illuminating a path through the
tumultuous surface, below which
churns the fury of unfathomable currents.
i fear your passing.
what will i do for light?
who will be my hope?
the violent beauty of the night
engulfs me, as I sit
crouched and wakeful.
do not go
do not go.
