.

Carrying heavy golden chains

In these pale and battle-worn hands,

You wander the desert, fleeing

Shadows of your tangled being;

One may perhaps divine your pains

– All those desperate final stands –

By giving in to your deep scars,

Yet none will ever appreciate

The truth of your want for the stars,

Will they? Too deep is the chasm –

Primordial abyss to satiate.

Oh, how somber the night must seem,

Hope but a distant phantasm,

Yet, if these words carry some weight:

Know that the moon retains its gleam

In day, in night, in storm, or death,

For all those forsaken by fate

And you deserve this ‘one more breath’.

.

Bemused.