Pulsar

It is time to swallow the neon lights, the pretty purple and blues.

Enough years have passed to put a cold gleam in his eyes

And a raging, burning hunger in his chest that will devour everything.

It will blast him apart and he will collapse into a pretty little pulsar,

Emitting the same flashing lights that he has swallowed.

.

It is time to burn and blaze and blow up beneath grey clouds

And give the world something to watch in horror.

The nights are long and cold and black, dismal in their making.

This pretty little implosion will color them bright with terror,

Bright with the fear that should have always been in the neon lights.

.

It is time to implode, bleed, and turn into something violently bright.

It is time for the windchimes to sing with the arrival of the storm,

Of the destruction of what was and the construction of what will be.

Let him pulse.

Let the world turn to ash and shift into something new.