What’s Left

What’s left but the cold rocks?
And bitter winds?
When the day ends?
And the silence consumes all night again?

Most fade with the warmth.
But not I.
I’m here to stay,
cold winds or not.

It’s all retrospect,
these days you reflect.
And know more you think
that the light won’t just sink.

It’s that sort of duality,
that drives us on,
and mad,
but glad,
at all we had,
and what soon will be
forever to see.

The toughest times inspire the most.
It’s what drives us on
when all else is gone.
And when the sun
(like that light)
dissolves into night,
along with crushed hearts
that simmer then sear
alone into dark
and then into cold,
waiting to restart,
not wanting more tears.

It’s better than nothing,
this slim consolation.
It’ll be better next morning,
I will promise you that.

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