Expired Invitation

A splash of darkness
flew above the whitest snow
that I have ever seen.

Like a picture book in dreamscape,
the shadow grabbed my hands.
She begged for me to fly with them
beyond my gray horizons
in search of storied lands
and starlit seas.

At last, long last, I said,
"I'm not really dead,
Just pretending—"
I refuse to fathom that—
and bid my final fairy go.

Like the stone so far below
stands against the chilling waves,
teetering on the ledge
I face ten thousand grayed-out dawns.

Every morn I warn myself again
the day has come to follow them.