For me, darkness covers its dim, still form. It’s been that way since I was born. It lays, it lives, it exists forlorn. Not gay, not enlightened, not even warm. It has not moved, nor thought, nor mourned. Its existence is without purpose sworn, No purpose, nor anything else to adorn Its featureless, dim, still form. But I’ll reach out for this curious thing That shuns the light in the dark vibrant aura of night. I’ll give it some meaning, some might. It might make a difference, wrong or right. It must do something to requite its maker. Thought of it stirs my heart to fight. I find a quiet joy, a determinate delight Its dim, still, forlorn form excites. Its veiling darkness lies in all mankind. It sleeps with quandary in all men’s minds. We all try to reach out to find it. But it still lies in our minds confined. I close my eyes in the middle of the night; I jump in the dark from a distant affright; I reach for something encouraging in my mind; I look with hope for achievements defined; And it’s there.