Wither

Running out of fairy dust,

Losing inner shine,

Trying to make ends meet,

But strands and strings

Of empty things,

Will never intertwine.

If everything you relied on,

Came right from within,

Then what can be done when endless supplies

Start to wear thin?

Where do you go when there is no destination,

what do you do without standing still?

Aimless wanders,

Bouncing off corners,

Turns life's journey in.

The voice inside is softer,

Can you hear me anymore?

No, just silence,

And slow churns

Of fairy dust and sunshine

wearing thin.