Solar breath. A monument to excess, softly brushes my face. And burns too soon. Wounds on cue. Nothing to show. And yet, you know. Pride undone, the way is lost. One last time before we lay these ghosts to rest. Petrified and self exiled, I would throw myself into the sun. I am too sick, weak and tired, and I know the worst is to come. Under one unblinking eye, cursed to live yet doomed to die, The universe, under its own weight contracts and folds into its final fate. What am I? I should have perished But I'm all alone now. All around me is void. How could it be that all creation lies in me? For eons I linger, or maybe a fleeting moment. Something is building. Wonder and resentment. Deeper and deeper, I owe existence nothing. Mocking my fury, creation takes root and explodes. I had the chance to create a perfect form. Devoid of malice. Of peace and beauty born. When all was silent, I could have stopped it all. Yet, in my anger, I only brought forth the storm again. The cycle begins. And as I fade my last thought is only regret.