a decadent drop of golden liquid sun

slid restlessly down the flickering surface,

past drops of translucence, more than one.

 

fighting a battle; yet to be won.

the drop, with light shining through its core,

slipped past a ton of a ton

of drops who hold nothing.

 

their inside their outside.

their outside their inside.

 

but the golden drop,

wrapped in light,

shining with the warmth of the sun,

bright as a lover’s smile,

 

the golden drop was losing.

 

the army of clear drops marched down the pane.

the single golden drop slipped slowly after them.

 

its path blocked 

by an overcrowding of indistinction,

thwarted by translucent drops

meandering down the pane, 

blindly building a bulbous concoction of pellucidity. 

 

but when the end came,

and the two drops remained,

one large,

one small,

one which could be seen through,

and one from which life seeped out,

the first crashed in a cacophony of chaos.

 

carnage seeped along the bottom of the pane.

the clear drop a million pieces once more.

going.

going.

gone.

 

the golden drop paused,

suddenly stopped by the shambles before it,

and continued on.

 

through the decimation,

past the lifeless two-D drops,

 

and to the edge of the pane.

from which it rose,

up through the sky.

 

morning had come.