Tantalisingly,
they fade away.
I know what you were doing;
I know you came here to display
nothing. There was actually nothing
in the beautiful endlessness you pretended was a possibility
to repair whatever is left. To restore whatever was once upon a time set adrift.
To let me know that you, attempting to find a reason
to conceal that you are barely surviving,
decided to fail at being magnanimous instead.
Decided that in the end,
all that matters is the chance for you to still maintain the direction that will lead to
a quiet, meaningless, vacuous emptiness
of your own making.
I am not in the business of foresight,
but I know that a lack of respect is only a denying
of what will one day come for you.
Not me, not the sunset or the sunrise,
but a chance for you to renew—
nah.
What does it matter.
The dawn is really, truly pretty,
when so construed.
The falling is really, truly incendiary,
when everything that is imbued
within it
is finite;
is a sense that beyond the horizon,
there still is such thing
as an upper limit.