Beside a blind lamp at night
A lady dips her quill
The nib racing illegibly across parchment
Contrasts with the view out the window

It’s coming, she knows
Faster than wind
And though she is well aware
That none will read what she writes
Solace comes to her
In the form of a trembling hand

Blood curdling screams from outside
Make her flinch
But she forges on
For the belief that one may outrun the end
Afflicts all

To be in the face of the storm
To feel what lies beyond
Is reason enough to madden
But to know and accept quietly
Is insanity

Dawn draws near
And the woman fears no more
She resigns to her fate
But chooses to go out on her own terms
And so the quill lies still in the ink
As light swallows the dark