Not a poem
Not a poem just a thought:
He said he wouldn't write anymore,
But he did,
And he turned my metaphoric being into someone else.
Maybe when he wrote that, in between the lines, he meant he wouldn't write about me.
The Astronomer
She was a galaxy, Lit from the inside with stars. He loved the night sky, So he observed her from afar. But he was was only an astronomer, And she was the endless night, So he sat with his telescope and waited until the time was right. He traced her constellations, He drew her crescent smile, But the astronomer never realized that even a galaxy can be fragile. She was constant, And so was he, The astronomer and the galaxy. So he found it surprising when he stepped out in the night, That the endless sky was devoid of any light. The astronomer fell to his knees and wept, Her name fell from his lips in a desperate plea. He searched the grass for stardust, He looked for a flicker of her in the sky. Surrounded by darkness he realized, stars shine the brightest before they die.
Shaely...your writing is once again out of this world. You write with true feeling...and that is not alwyas easy to do.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much ❤️ your comments and attention to my blog mean the world to me.
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