The stars still light the night,

even when they die.

Is this what Van Gogh saw,

when he looked at the starry sky.

As I look at the moon,

I nearly fall to my knees.

The future is a test of my temerity.

I cling to my door,

for tenuous support.

Grief is a given for us,

while time continues to flow.

An umbrella will stop rain,

but it’s of no use

when it comes to pain.

The slow motion of time

is like the ticking of a clock.

It’s a monotonous refrain,

but its meaning is plain.