there was never anything more than fine gossamer threads of hope
fraying and tenuous, breaking, snapping, tearing with the slightest breeze
the merest whisper
more like a dream than anything else
so that awakening came like a disaster
and the dawn brought nothing but dread

untethered, my soul writhes
unbound, directionless, unmoored
drifting aimlessly in this empty sea of silence
without a soul in sight
bobbing up and down like an abandoned dinghy
forgotten flotsam slowly sinking into the deep
I cling desperately to shattered, splintered driftwood
knowing soon I will grow too weary
to hold fast to the broken fragments
to swim against this current

the waves shall take me
in the deep fastness I shall lie

and maybe this existential torment, too
is nothing but a nightmarish dream
and one day I shall awaken
at last knowing that every ending is a new beginning
for every closed door, there is an open one

I cling to this thought
bind it to myself, clasp it tight
this final hope
that, one day, my hour will come
and this, too, shall then end