Poetry

Addictive in shambles, that was 
cognitive decline― 
amidst wars of life, 
with a right to death. 
 
The gold dust falls 
from the dead, colliding stars, 
after the violence of giants. 
You may not need stem cell transplant now. 
 
Like a gamma ray burst― of 
cataclysmic events― to start 
the creation of verse. Were you 
ready to hear the inner voice? 
 
The urge to go up, was very strong 
without grit. My burden will 
increase if you are― 
reluctant to propel yourself.