Clouds Pile Atop The North Star Poem by Katy Lue

Five bare together the grief that one measures,
Unfair,
And an unpleasant course,
Only the one can talk,
Only the one can walk,
But all witness the blistering force,
Peeling and worn from age and weather the four stand tall and strong,
Yet soaked with secrets and thoughts so unshared that the space within is left wrong,
From ground up the color is scratched and repainted,
From sky down the drywall is chipped,
The one stands solo,
Deserted in the middle,
Surrounded by the life that is now a lost myth,
There's a mirror of clear glass,
It is a portal with shades that views the world from afar,
The one will watch confused and aghast,
Clouds pile atop the North Star,
Alone in this space is not a table or chair,
Just a pencil and paper alone,
the pencil cracked,
The paper in half,
Yet the one has a feeling reborn,
The four watch,
Intrigued by their master,
The one's emotion grows strong,
The one scribbles and writes,
Words of his life,
Until a glowing map takes form,
Missing, though, are many words,
Of what is yet to come,
Time will move on,
But will "the end" able himself to live on?
His eyes pass through the portal,
A glowing circle appears,
The one's surrounded by past,
And ready at last,
To live outside of the decaying mirrors,
The pencil and paper in hand,
He kisses the four and bids them good life,
A mental picture is taken of his friends,
With all but done,
He steps into the night to fill the pages left open