A kaleidoscope of fleeting embers appears beneath the fireplace—
Burnt ashes permeating these hollow halls of winter.
Faded cards with Christmas carols mark the existence of another absolution
Where we invent ourselves from glass crystals and a nonsense
Fanatical of perfection.

Shards of rainbow-colored glass on the floor as we run barefoot among the stars.
Sparks of yellow and orange and blue and red and gold illuminate
The dreary existence of this lonely town.
As we search for new illusions to
Fill our drunken hearts.

Chestnut leaves fall onto the ground
As we countdown—
Five…
Four…
Three…
Two…
One…

Another year gone—
Another soul taken—
To cashmere sweaters and expensive screens.
What have we become?