Sky’s Design

     Tonight I wept for the stars that aren't in the right places, the stoves that light their sacred fires are running out the clock, and the ash that comes from the skies in the hallowed lands far, far East of my lunar contemplations is choking the people's dreams, drop by drop, from the well of their piquant hearts—to the point where a small life could be lost in the torrents of a larger one, the dance of light to a precious many is fuel for another's fanatical and rapacious machine of obstinance and greed—a dour fight for decency is just another card laid on a table full of the complications of a fragile existence, and the holy is always on the stand being interrogated by the fingering of hate and fear—which is it that sours a soul quicker?… the tip of a demon’s drill? or the absence of heart who is holding it?
        But the Earth’s luminous ceiling has no misalignment and no apparent flaw in its wholeness, at times it may bust or break out of its seams… but this is as natural as gravity itself—the pull that rules all, brings mountains down and raises the sun to the crest of the sky, sings the song that guides two souls together, propagates the wings of a flower, brushes the ocean against the sandy shoals of where the Earth has lain, bends the frosty breezes to its unstoppable will… nothing can cease that which was meant to be, the darkness kills the light and the light fills the darkness in such liquid ways that there cannot be one without the other, the touch of their fields drives our future like an inexorable wheel of might… but what is a frown without a smile to heal its wound? it shivers the night out of any wrinkle or sore… the days of frustration and lamentation will come to a standstill, and in the mysterious annals of time… we get up and fight again…