It was well past midnight
Still he would not sleep, pouring over
his days; a page
a minute
Did he hold his hand
upon his star
before it burned out?
Leaving no scar, and forgotten.
As the moon disappeared that illuminated
the shadows of his night
He would not go blind
Without a fight, squinting
in the darkness at the sun
that was long
left his part of the world,
Crashed and burned into the oceans.
Twist and turn time takes its toll
Too tired to rise he
Closes his eyes to see better:
Squinted shut
Black becomes blacker
Until memory pools in
Like the moonlight, with wisdom
never quite enough.
His doubts and fears come
multiplied by years of
Unanswered questions and ponderings
And he stares at the heavens, wondering
If his dream would be fire or clouds
Or not dream at all, engulfed by the shroud
Of sleep.
Nelson Ong
