Sky is BlacK

Desires feel like the sky to me,

with no beginning

and no sign of an ending.

Like a blank canvas,

it waits for me to fill it

with whatever colours I desire.

But when the day is over,

only one colour remains.

Black.

That black has covered far too much of me.

No constellation of colours

comes to hold a festival there.

The colours of dawn

are never invited.

Even a rainbow

is nothing more than a flicker of light,

never the work of an artist.

Everything that shines

seems wrapped

in a black shroud of sorrow.

No bird flies through my sky.

No dream takes wing.

Even the rain,

lost somewhere in the silent darkness,

falls in darkness of its own.

There is no waking from this place

like waking from a nightmare.

It cannot simply be hated

and pushed away.

Here,

light is blind.

But darkness is alive.

And in this sky,

I am only a star,

a faded page of memory,

a blurred line

from something once written.