the end of the world came in green and then red.
Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat.
The year is drawing to a close,
though it's hardly as simple as that.
The blackness of the night surrounds
the distant souls of stars now found
and the darkness of the fading day
makes light the path from which I stray.
The pieces of my shattered life
are ash upon the frozen ground
with ever less reason to fight foreward on
instead to fade without a sound.
In the clearing at the end of the path
The snow floats gently from a winter sky
Never more to find the peace he had
The old stray cat lays down to die