Last

It doesn't matter anymore.
This life, these dreams
hold appeal no longer--
Existence overrated, insignificant.
Mosaic tiles parallel the order, the chaos.
Death a foil of life,
Happiness measured by grief,
weighted our world.
Glimmers of hope scattered, randomly
snatched back at measured moments,
in times of need, during the precise second
when a soul looks to the spark,
like a parched throat stranded in a desert.
Reliance only on the self,
expect nothing, come alone, go alone.
The light is fading, it's all dying
leaving behind a budding grin.