At the end of the world was a lonely soul,
And that soul made a friend—nothingness.
There was no one else for him to hold,
and no other place for him to go.
There were no other hands held out,
nothing to grab onto before he fell.
And when he fell, he’d cry to the heavens,
“I loved you then—but you’re not here now.”
Then a different hand reached out to him.
A hand that hadn’t been there before.
It pulled him up, limb by limb,
And then the lonely soul was safe once more.
Add comment
Comments