Constellations twinkle red,
Bright sapphire crawls the grain,
Antique fibers crinkle dead,
Ashes, ashes, all the same.

Once build for conversation,
Fallen from it’s glamour days,
No tilt towards restoration,
Broken down by clamor blaze.

Center stage on warehouse floor,
Heavy price to match it’s weight,
Limb from limb the field mouse tore,
Fading fast in catch and grate.

Valued now as fuel for flames,
Piece by piece to fit the pile,
Atmosphere feels cool these days,
Burn the past and sit awhile.