Your Poetry Dot Com - Farewell My Dears, I Have Run Out of Years

My tree of life has been cursed to
warm my breath as fuel for fire,

All its leaves will burn out like
my last shreds of hope and darken my desire,

My skin will turn blue for what once
gave it color has been cursed with a new task,

It shapes the words and answers
for the questions they will ask,

I wait for that instantaneous recap
of all the things I've done,

When it comes, all I get is a list of
regrets so I count them one by one,

I begin to feel cold but I never quite
shiver...the fire is almost out,

And so is my time as fate tends to
deliver despite one's denial or doubt

I watch the last little ember go dark,
which makes me jerk and face the skies,

There's nothing like a stream of smoke
to break the tension in my eyes

This poem is Copyright © ALackofColor