Last glass
An empty glass on an empty table,
Waiting to be filled
As the dust slowly covers the surface
Of the table.
Outside the grass lies dormant,
In eternal winter.
And the glass waits patiently
to be filled.
The sun shines dimly through cloudy skies,
Too cold to thirst.
Yet the glass waits eagerly
To be filled.
Left there by chaos it waits for reason,
Waiting to be filled.