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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