The Death Of Time

Solitude's cold star,
Drifting into nothingness,
Again and again;
At the funeral of Time.
Glimmers of life are
Now receding. Light years away,
The poet's lone voice
Is breaking into fragments.
Nothing will remain:
No sun- lit dream- visions or
Profound elegies;
Just scatterings of moon dust
Over earrh's cracked skies.