Ascension — to go slow
towards a grey pale ceiling
high above a land that borne us
into the physical,
on a thin thread resembling life
we hoist ourselves — adagio
heavenwards
sans following,
expecting neither new likes
nor nasty notes posted
on the flagpole
of life,
we find ourselves atop
by an unpolished crown
of imagined gilded beauty
alone,
the glum ceiling broods
upon the fate of days
and comets to follow
as we await the storms
and the age of shadows.
