Unholy Night

When despair closes in

a black shroud chokes

Life from the tiniest flame

flickering in unholy darkness.

Unable to move,

I lie numb waiting

For death-like sleep –


from the insensitivity

of a man whose wants

are the only “reality,”

whose truths are universal

whose ideas belong to god.

whose selfishness cannot be measured

by any means known to

a woman like me

whose heart opens

to other’s needs,

like flowers,

opening to the sun.