When in dejection the stars call me forth,
To gaze wearily upon their splendor,
And to beg the question of my self worth;
Then I must wonder if it will render
My lost soul to wander in confusion,
As clarity dissolves, staining my mind
And only festering my delusion:
That in my days I will manage to find
What little good the world does offer;
That I will not be entirely lost,
And through empathy may I, too, suffer,
Aware and cognizant at any cost–
For I cross this vast plain not quite alone;
The stars prick my heart and shatter my bone.