so sick of watching the sun (set) beneath
plain white moons and midnight skies
in which (not) even the stars can shine

where the only remnants of life
are in the stars' shards and drops of the
sun's color left in fields of (dead) grass

and not even the strength of unity
can lift the sun from its (diminishing) state…

even though I float in waves of hope,
shades of grace, above mountains and hills
and valleys of low elevation
they are not (doing) the same.

they simply drown in falling (snowing) skies
and (winter) nights of setting suns
that grow longer, longer every day
freezing (hardening) their hearts.

reaching down from (higher) heights
my hand hangs empty
waiting for them to reach up and take it…

even though some join me on my magic carpet
above the (decaying) world of (black) life
others are left behind…

hanging, empty
almost as much as my hand
(waiting for them to hold on.)