Forgive me if I disappear here, if like a dying
Shooting star my flight expires in a flash of light, yielding
To the encircling murk, this shroud that slowly stultifies.
Forgive me if my quivering lips neglect to tell my tale
Of broken shattered things and distant pains that still remain
And this unyielding weight; of things quotidian and unseen.
Why can’t skies have clouds and stars* and enthralling moon light too?
Why must a pilgrim find his way, on slippery pavements too?
*Line stolen from La Reine’s response to the Day 2 prompt.