A black hole uninhabited by the living.

A spiral, a hurricane, a tornado: a death.
A loss of everything, a void devoid of light,
A sense of falling permeates the hole
Yet all is still unmoving, unchanging.

I wrote a poem today,
Expressing fears, doubts unhappiness.
Strange that these words never
Leap from page to mouth,
Even among the closest friends.
In the wide universe, the grand expanse of time,
The life we live with 6 billion seeking souls;
Can I really call myself alone?