Half a century in days, there's no sage who'd have known
that we'd plot out the stars, and then carve them in stone.
Ebb and flow through the crevices, funnel down glass
slipping silently - clouds, past the earth to the grass -
count the seconds, time flies as we run to the door
dare we walk through to find our forever no more.
In the shadows that separate us, from surreal
I reach out and offer - "my heart you may steal";
yet you pass right through me, and the world turns to gold -
light floods the sky as my fingers you hold;
you let go and it's gone, like the sound of a crash,
my whole world turns to grey, upon pillars of ash.