If blue sky cooled
Flames below unending,
Would I then be fooled
Into finding meadows worth defending?
Ne'er does the wind call me
To that place of most sacred harmony.
Ever, though, does Ember seek,
Reaching far through a chasm of doubt.
Seeing silver atop the mountain peak,
the
Ember could do naught, but shout.
Void of color, your eyes are,
Over wispy hills they seem to fly.
Longing for the grace of a star,
Vowing to never once cry,
for
Even the star knows of its fate,
Destiny that has already passed.
Icarus-like, towards heavenly gates,
Negligent of a light now done; avast.
-
futilevariable
