Nothing As Much Needed As Love Poem by Mark Heathcote

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.