The Ashes of a Star

On wasted time.

White stuns.

The sands of an hourglass fix shut my eyes, and yet

by the pure light that leaks through, I must rise, and yet

every motion that stirs I despise, and I

lay 'til the light shatters body and mind.

Yellow reminds.

A myriad lamps, my window's no match for;

I know I must walk on a cold stony floor;

Make haste with my muscles, make open the door;

And gorge 'til my body says it is content.

Orange repents.

A day that was new will now border senile

and no acquisition makes worthy my while

No coin, work or company, no well-explored mile.

I will lay yet again and make haste of what's due.

Violet rues.

Oh, how an incense once bright and perfumed

has turned now to ash and is cold as the tomb!

This day had a flame, yet it's not left the room!

So desperate not to die deedless, it cries.

Black sighs.

Nothing was written, and nothing was said

in a day I won't miss when I find myself dead

Let us offer it now to the nothingness led

By my eyes that shut, eager, in wait for new sun.