When the darkness comes.
And it will.
You will have to find your own way home.
No one will be there to help you.
Your money will be worthless.
Just darkness, all around.
You will have to feel your way along.
Grasping for something familiar.
Finding only the foreign.
Days, weeks, years.
What will you do when you get there?
When you get home?
What if you never do?
Lost in darkness and solitude.
Suffering.
An odd sort of punishment.
But why?
That is always the next question.
Grasping,
Seeking.
Wondering.
What is?
What could have been?
All destroyed.
By darkness.
Poetry
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