Despair is a thing

With faces sundry.

It is crude, yet

To deceive, it never fails.

The desperate peer from

Inadequate portholes

A star is snuffed out.

The night is indifferent

To the weeping of the moon.

In the far, a cricket chirps.

He sings out to me,

He soothes my sorrow

He comforts me in my unnatural state.

He is indifferent to my weeping.