Are you a burnt little matchstick?
Struck against scraping sandpaper
Till you shine bright enough to be a star,
But the joy of being enough is robbed by the end, without going far.
Burnt, crippled, broken, and used,
Now showing no more potential nor promise,
You are thrown away by the world,
Tossed in a pile without a thought,
The light you brought, they forgot,
So they have simply left you to rot.
-Maya Desdemona
I suppose there was truth when Calpurnia said:
"The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes."
For as I stare out my window,
Glancing at heaven above and ground below,
I see white lilies mourn the loss of a kind soul from this world,
And the mighty heavens themselves stand in shame at their helplessness.
On this day
A great and kindly spirit was robbed from this Earth,
Far too early, sooner than one would anticipate,
And simply...
That.
That spirit has left this Earth, and left us mortals in its wake
As fleeting as the picture captured
With these gifts called memories.
-Desdemona
In every breath I take,
I only fill my emptiness
With air
For a brief while.
A longer release from this nameless burden that sits over me,
Would really be appreciated, you see?
I cannot breathe in for too long,
The weight returns with a spiking pain,
As painful as a somber memory...
Without name and cause,
This burden rests above my chest,
Yet from there it will not budge,
And I must be an Atlas, holding up the sky.
But wherefore does this weary weight come from,
It weighs heavy on the worn soul,
And when one knows not its cause,
It resembles a mystery to unfold.
My life is good and my worries are few,
Yet this immaterial intangible weight
Still constantly rests on my soul.
Are there others in this world
With so queer a tale to tell?
So I ask, dear readers,
So you feel such impending dread?
– Maya Desdemona
Luminousis 