Christopher Gonzalez Blue My hands are aflame And blue allows me no release. A slow steady burn is cowardly death. To fritter away my being with Passion in a cage Will extinguish my desire For love For laughter For life itself. Release! I have awaited a nova But perhaps A nova does not await me. Perhaps I must seize it. Perhaps I must wrench it Free from itself And set it apart With me Or a bit of me To keep it company. To keep it warm. To keep it from dying, Becoming an ember, A shell of its being, A faint representation, A white dwarf. Then red. Then black. Perhaps, As I watch the blue in the sky Darken To match the blue of my garb And my means of mobility, I can wait Just a little bit Longer For blue Becomes black Then blue once again As the fire in the sky, The candle of life, Rises And I wave it onward.