Shreds: “Void”

Upon the final pale, white light,
Weary are these straining eyes;
Time, thou art but a cross in plight,
A stern judge to my verse’s cries.

When I reach out with will, yet lag,
To cruel morn’s devouring feast,
I face an unusual hunger’s nag,
Embracing the corpse of a beaten beast.

Reluctant yet exalted, I hold my stance,
Consistent though lies have vexed,
In search of thorns in a rose’s dance,
Which to flames I cast, enjoying the pyre’s text.

Though silence reigns in cosmic sphere
And I strive to shun such thought,
Reluctant still, as dawn draws near
With a black sun’s sole light distraught.

And on the last loud, shouted cry,
My vanquished eyes find their end;
Faith, thou art but a crutch to lie,
Though limp, thy denial I defend.

I sink in a bucket of briny tears,
A mere relic of memory’s fold,
Virgin of love, aware naught’ll appear
In this frame where no warmth holds.

And on the final gesture, same as before,
Dreams of a man are torn asunder;
Life, thou art but a grandiose lore,
Entropic in a void’s wandering thunder.