A couple of depressing stanzas I just wrote

Enshrined in tumult's timeless toil,
Today can neither buy nor pay,
Nor brighten colors turned to gray,
But it writes checks into the soil.

Aloud, five nothings speak to me,
Why grieve, when lights refuse to turn,
What is there of you that won't burn?
The Numen you will never be.

This is a 100% power-up post in iambic tetrameter