To The Lover, Disappeared:
I was an infinite night sky.
You, a composition of harsh silhouettes and jagged words,
Are made of your own red stardust
You gave names to the nebulas within my inky skin,
And the planets I adorned,
Are again christened by your words.
The sun was my blood, my fuel and–
the moon, my companion.
During the summer eclipse,
I was stolen (betrayed) by our moon.
You can no longer see me,
Or the nebulas you loved.
The sun became a husk — gone
But the world still lived on
While my heart stopped to see you again.
To the Stargazers:
We are the black holes, the first to exist. Before your Gods ( we were your first Gods ), your men, and your beasts. We are the universe’s chariots — the rotations of the galaxies. We are the overseers, the observers of your conceptions. Within every eighteen point five million years a cycle ushers in our songs to all, all fifty-seven octaves of it. Our songs are incomprehensible by the naked ears. To be close to us, and to hear us sing, is to destroy your existence. We are infinite, yet you chose to worship those so-called gods ( are we not Gods as well? ). You, who praise masters that paint in urethane, epoxy, and phenolic could never construe us upon your canvases. You, beings of emotions crying prolactin, will never shed anything for us. Why is it that we pass by your gaze as inconsequential existences? Therefore, hear our message to you:
We are your beginning,
We are your end
If we didn’t exist, you will find
N
O
T H I
N G
The Fallen:
“You are my favorite,
my chosen,
my light.”
Birthed with the softness of silk brocade
Once baby breath flower sweet as milk
Turned into honeyed poison upon His ears
“Jealousy towards mortals.
How unbecoming of you.”
Your cruelty blossomed from these bitter fragments
And drawn by the misery of His love’s deceit,
So your soul crumbled, engorged with hatred.
“Let it be known:
You are no child of mine anymore.”
With ashen wings unfurled,
You fed bane into the mortal minds
And became the enemy of men and God