Friend To Nothing

08 January 2026

https://poems.culturing.net/2026/01/friend-to-nothing/

My wits return, and so I gaze
into the pitiless night, a friend to Nothing,
feeling its empty tentacles nurse my burns.
Time does not heal some wounds,
but one does grow a bit numb.
I'll take my finger and thumb
and spin the globe of stars
that closes o'er the earth.
Then I'll feel better, or at least
I will feel less. But if I had to guess,
these wits won't make me happy,
though they put an end to stress.