Nothing As Much Needed As Love

I have called to the stars And said deliver me my death. Thread me like a needle! With what little light I have left. And the stars called back. "What Black-hole is this, which swallows All before it counts in zeros And, is always, juxtaposed. "He's the bead upon all else rests". Let's do him a favour; Do, then, as he asks. In sleep let him, awake, even graver. Then if death had given his life Let him, see the colour of nothing And let that nothing, be as much As every atom touched by nothing. Nothing as much needed as love.