Another memory turns to dust,
crumbles and falls like
the last desperate pedals from a dying rose.
There’s a final satisfaction in failing,
in the release from the responsibility of surviving,
symbolized by that last pedal
joining his companions on the floor;
withered, yes, but finally not alone.

Blotted out by an infinite cloud of indifference,
how futile it is to stand without The Sun.
Limbs grasping in agony for what minor nourishment remains
They writhe, and shudder,
and those fallen friends berate and beg me to cease
from the comfort of the shadows on the floor.

If you saw me on the street, in some dusty storefront window
would you walk the other way and forget that I need you?
Your rays favor those who can live easily without you
but my garden has been ruined by this perpetual sunless day

03/10/2006

Author's Note: Probably unfinished, but my muse has been exhausted so I'll let it turn over in my head for a few days and see if there is more to polish.

Posted on 03/10/2006
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