At the entrance of the black hole where I had fallen.
One of those wormholes.
A worm licking its feet.
And everything starts again,
from the begining, but a bit lower.
Around and downwards. As in a bad dream.
Cycles... cycles...
But it seems infinite.
I look upwards and both sides.
I see nowhere to get hold of.
I'd like to have something to grab.
Something red and living. With some letters of 'hope'.
But I can't see it yet.
Upwards and both sides are the same dim concept.
Some gusts of wind drag unawares light rays.
As little blades of rare solar plants,
that tangle between your hair
leaving only white threads,
that don't illuminate you, don't cheer you up
but heat you.
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