Seven Colored Ash

 

 

 

 

It has happened

once a year

every twelve years

 

Stoic years

that have defined the meaning

of my anguish

 

I had tried to talk to you

 

Stretch through the

prickled dots

that cloud my sky

just to try to spread into yours

 

but my movements

they were discarded

 

You see

stars are fickle possessions

 

They make you feel

as if you can reach out

and grab them

when people depart

 

Truth is

 

They are as far away

as ever in those moments

 

Those specs of dust

look down on you

in amusement

and they laugh at you

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