Still sees no constellation;
upon my sightless universe
of details plotting my desire
for years of longing thirst;
mainly from reasons' poetry,
revolving 'round my blood
of homage bonds from self-reproach
for failing hurts to clot;
took bleak advantage
of timing pace
and burning drive
yet wilts in haste;
for keenly needed
my stars in images,
within my hopeless milky way
to bleed no bandages;
'till noticed and allured I may
my great beliefs to worship now,
these merely signs believed--existent
without their doubtful "how";
what's yearning upon though
for bright success, constructing
my dearly worked for constellation,
my sightful sun's combusting;
though truth--I may believe,
never their mastery
despite too, I concede
addressed into their mysteries
give gambles to forgive,
give gambles to relive,
maybe but twisted chances though
give gambled stars to live.
