To the bold that failed and hover on the night:
There are souls in the clouds
and they scream by blocking the stars.
The scream is not a loud scream:
It is a rodent caught in a trap that has collapsed its lungs
tiny little gasps
as he fades(as you too shall fade),
abandoned by the void,
only to fall back into the clouds
and murmur soft and moist
his acid rain,
to an indifferent world of steel.
Never reaching, no change, no escape.
Ah, but never to grasp and slip
is bitterness to life and all its broken dreams.
The sky was black and crystalline that night,
but the edges such blunt, brilliant monsters
that they eat greater men than I.
So then, you sickly sliding apparitions,
be bitter, and sing your water song
and hide from me the
that I might not dare to stare,
as you have failed.