Not worth the salt it would take for one tear.
Made an idol the supports couldn’t hold.
Now they tremble and shake, threatening to snap.
Hatred for ash, but the oak proved soft.
Stretched too thin.
Painted too bright.
Planted too deep.
Traveled too far.
Fearful of words as temporary as death.
Apologizing to galaxies as oceans dissolve.
Not even a whisper will reach the stars.