The Musings of a Star

I see them look up to where

they cannot be.

 

I feel their wishes collide

with the magnified need

of their wandering, pagan hearts.

 

The spirits of their departed

float past in silent cloaks of dust,

reflecting our own futures.

 

They send up their

rockets and space toys,

cluttering their sky

as we watch them

implode.

 

We will grieve the day

they go dark forever,

and all they knew

floats silently past us

into the past.

 

A Bitterness

Bitterness

clings to some

like a child clutching the hem

of Mother’s dress

as they walk through

deserted, razed, and filthy streets

of a forgotten war zone.

 

Criticism and rebukes

are the whisky and chaser

of all their verbiage.

 

Negativity is nectar

to their self-dissatisfaction,

disguised as humorous self-deprecation.

 

All within the perimeters and parameters

of their voice are never

immune or safe.

Their ever- angry gaze and weaponized words

find cracks and crevices

like a wind-driven hailstorm,

as they rewrite whole hedonistic histories

that absolve them of the impact of their

derisive decisions that affect the lives of others.

 

Let’s pray for them,

even as we

leave them behind.