Pens and Pages

The star that burned Into ashes today Was once the star Of his mother's death. And the same ball of fire, She had seen When he was born, She'd made a wish. And now that you pick The stardust lying On the cold hard ground, You call it special, You call it lucky. But he picks the same And calls it dirt. So, what's its name, In this ephemeral world, Where identity changes And names don't last?

She whispers words in my ears, Songs in my head, Dark songs in my soul. She vanishes as dawn breaks. And when the night Covers me With its starless blanket, She appears again On the doorstep. Two gentle knocks On the wooden door. Third, She calls out my name. She then whispers my name, Again and again. She sings songs of the past, Songs of the dead. She wears the moon On her face. But tonight's a moonless night; She bears no face. She whispers death in my ears, Songs in my head. Songs forgotten, Songs of the dead.