Replicated Decimal

He can't be. 

To please something, he tried.

Nothing was enough. 

He flew over dreams,

flowed into space,

dark as poison. 

Dancing past horizons

his dreams 

gave new worlds

sunlight,

life.

A river wears the mask of sunset.

Its calm current

runs deep 

and uproots him there

somewhere inside. 

It was an hour of dusk.

A boatman saw him

and carried him on that plank of wood

from where death makes its sky visible.

A graveyard, mortal stars 

were buried in the chest of death.

It blinded the man. 

Still, the boatman sailed far. 

The mind of the foreigner was blank

but his gaze was felt,

like an evil spirit passing through.

The traveler lay awake.

A grey mystery in those dead eyes shines. 

All the realms meditate come moonlight,

that silver thread of thunder 

imprinted across the river.

He is born just that once,

when his eyes are wide open

golden wrath eats the wings of flight

and the heat of the sun is felt

absorbing into the earth under his feet. 

You left him behind

in the pursuit of life

now he is all that's left of us. 

His work you have found 

in new worlds

replicated.