my sun collapsed,

my black hole ,

suffer me.

i prayed for an exit,

i cried to all gods,

all men and women,

darkness only got more dark.

the wise man snubbed: you did not make a choice,

while he ate a king’s feast and called it

nothing.

i clawed, i scrapped, i salivated

(how humiliating)

for a cube of sugar,

nothing, nothing, nothing

i sang

to the darkness

is mine to chew, to bite, to relish

when misconfiguration was all i could do

to try

and make this real.

you know they say belief is in the mind,

i tried to reshape

my lost star, my lost world, my lost me,

for without a star, what i am?

onlookers looked away, remained neutral,

remained amused, bemused, slightly interested,

not a full commit.

how could i expect one?

the rush for the sun, a fixed algorithm, a news

derailed from a star, a crowd none the wiser.

wise doesn’t pay, that’s all it matters

for hearts wanting flesh.

but never, never, never

spell it out to the crowd who would then,

turn on the truth: spit, claw, chew, ingest,

how dare you?

a story would come,

a story without a heart, a story without bones,

a story without fire or ice,

that story would oust every foe.

it’s what sells, it is not laziness when a crowd

already says – we’ve done enough. maybe they have?

on and on,

the onlookers poked, gave small talks,

their pennies,

poured yellow to a void, a void never full,

what a greedy bastard!

and i could not agree more, for that is how

it appears to be.

must be truth, when the ending is already

fixed. a story. to fix here and there.

the wise man brought his gold to the grave,

so much gold into that nothing.

sugar lights up in heat,

turns to bitter nothing.

a fallen angel meets the rich man from

the pier: this has no value here,

for here the test is fire, heat and ice,

not wise words or sugar.

those days, those experiences, those learnings,

those memories

mean nothing here.

nothing? a wise man chokes.

for he has done much, sacrificed much

to earn his place in the sun,

the sun he believed has become his right,

it is mine! he screams.

But nothing is the here and now,

something he has done everything for

to avoid death, a lack of feast – he has taken for granted

it would always be there –

pay a price, work harder, believe

when belief suits the wind, the wind

that cares not for constraints, for time,

wind that has always existed, unafraid of a judgement.

… …

crash, crash, crash

a boat sinks to the bottom

and sirens claim the souls of sailors

who thought themselves above

such cheap thrills

as a song.

skeletons, moving past a black sun,

an eternal darkness

eager for light – it is not nothing.

but the crowd as usual does what they do best,

the remain neutral, they give their penny worth,

they give something minuscule to them,

then when dying embers fail to ignite,

they wonder how a sun failed to give light

to a world.

a world eager to drink up the sun,

to take the sun, to be the sun,

it sure feels right, it sure feels good,

it sure feels like heaven decreed it be be so.

because heaven

never judged acts, perception, what is openly seen,

heaven waits in the shadows

and sees what is done in the heart, in secret,

the man who has gained everything in this world,

isn’t it not enough?

of course not.

they compare themselves to david, job, the saints,

all of them dead. great.

for none can now testify, fallen angels,

live angels –

they are in the jury room –

writing their verdicts: nothing, a black sun

eager to take down all.

it’s what you want.