The pounds of time weigh down upon this place.
The crystal dome is creaking with the strain.
The painted sky has fractured to the West.

 

But not forever.

 

The hanging lights still play beneath the trees
though everyday the wind will catch another
in its path and cast it to the ground.

 

But not forever.

 

I wander where the lights lie broken here
and gather fallen pieces of the sky
that leave me wounds that only I can feel.

 

But not forever.

 

I hold a tiny shard of sky and glimpse
those perfect, gilded clouds that stretch out wide,
the everlasting blue reflected there.

 

My true forever.

 

Someday the globe will shatter overhead.
The paint will peel and flutter to the ground
like leaves. The last and lonely piece of sky will fall.

 

But not forever.