when you are empty like no other emptiness
as full as you. when your stars are cross
with your horizon and bitter with your shroud.
when the east is where tomorrow plots your demise.
and the west is an echo of an omen, fulfilled exhaustively.
when the night is just another daybreak.
when the owls lapse into “ Hoo is doing this to me? “ and conjures a mirror
for your consideration.
when long notes drown in their beauty
before the melody even begins.
when with a darker sun, more red the rose….
less dead, all things

we are young.