In the drudgery of despair I do roam, a light without light of its own.
For never a thing clung to me as I to it like the depths of the endless well I find myself falling in.
To speak her name on the journey serves to arouse the smile of reprieve, if but for the briefest of moments.
Memory of how she danced, most worthy amongst the angels in the sky, brings my heart and hope an ember in the void.
Still I am worse off with the spectre of happy thought,
Damned to never touch the night nor the peace for which I desperately reach.
And in its absence I am left only to curse the cycle to which I am chained.
My sin was pride– an ant believing itself capable of flight.
Given the penance of a dying star, once bright, losing hold on the sky,
The doubt begins to dim my shine and I question for what good is such light without that it loves most?
In time, as time is to do, I shall again live fleeting amongst the twinkling of friends,
But ’tis for her I shall always search as I come to meet the horizon first.
I pray the sky be clear and the view fair that my luck may change and I find her there.
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