A Thought is Death

A thought is death, wrought
with dragon breath.
And though the sun does also rise,
ancient theories surmise and
comprise wisdom, sought
by some, and bought by others.
The love of stars can smother
the love 'tween brothers.
The nights of symphonies alight
are full of simple euphonies,
complex cacophonies,
and women with dimples.
So, the drunk have sunk to
the lost and forgotten frosts
with neither faces nor places.
And stars so bright cost many-
a-life plagued with strife;
but the beds of the dead
contain more than remains,
they hold repositories for tales untold,
fairy stories, romances forgotten, lost mail;
geniuses gone and saints begotten.
My friend, is she simply that, or a lover?
Either way, I'd have her over no other
any day, and thus, I suffice it to say
for the rest of us,
ice is best.