The Void
It doesn’t move. It doesn’t blink. It’s just there.
You try to convince it with any number of things at your hand: trying to fool it into believing it doesn’t exist, dragging out rusty metaphysics to argue that in a just universe it *can’t* exist, throwing Hegel at it to the point of (in a Lutherian act of impotent rage) telling it it shouldn’t exist.
But it sits there gnawing on your philosophical bones, mocking your every move, casting doubt upon every certainty your feeble brain once knew. Knowledge is a breeze wandering through trees that whisper no longer, it says; a silent hymn to a night that speaks no more. It gazes at you, telling you always “You are nothing. You mean nothing.” “Sleep once more in your truest womb, the eternal void.”
Destructive Anachronism 
Yes, the void is always there, I know. I looked over the edge of it once. Having said that, though… I believe that, if the planet we live on means something, then we mean something, because we are essentially the planet…and beyond. The void can gaze all it likes, but the reverse of it is beauty, and we can sleep in the beauty too, and dream.
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