The poet and the shooting star
Written for a friend, in response to her poem which was great
The shooting star trails a blaze of brilliant white,
Across the farthest reaches of the dark night
Mortals who watch stand silent in wonder,
Captivated by its beauty, as has been since yonder
But no one knows, the sorrow pulsating within,
Its grief, pain at its inevitable fate, its glory does not hint
Torn from its mother’s loving embrace,
Taking a lonely journey, through silence of infinite space
It longs for a destination, or companions,
Yet the darkness infinitude of space allows its solitude,
Not a shred of penance
Finally then, its destiny comes to its inevitable end,
As it neared Terra, guided by an invisible hand
Burning with furious energy, a fiery catharsis,
Denied so long the glory it sought, it now finds and becomes,
The shooting star so beautiful, in another man’s fantasy
The shooting star comes then, to a fiery tragic end
More the so, considering its mockery thus far, by fate’s tragic hand
But should the shooting star realize,
The beauty of its flight, is a dream whom others fantasize
That even though its life, is an endless torment,
But serves as the mead of dreams, waiting in expectant ferment
Should it know, that a poet at least besides gazing at its dying glory,
Empathizes and hereby, tells its tragic, yet noble story
Would it lessen even one bit, its pain, grief, sorrow,
Though there may not be, another tomorrow
The poet and the shooting star
The shooting star trails a blaze of brilliant white,
Across the farthest reaches of the dark night
Mortals who watch stand silent in wonder,
Captivated by its beauty, as has been since yonder
But no one knows, the sorrow pulsating within,
Its grief, pain at its inevitable fate, its glory does not hint
Torn from its mother’s loving embrace,
Taking a lonely journey, through silence of infinite space
It longs for a destination, or companions,
Yet the darkness infinitude of space allows its solitude,
Not a shred of penance
Finally then, its destiny comes to its inevitable end,
As it neared Terra, guided by an invisible hand
Burning with furious energy, a fiery catharsis,
Denied so long the glory it sought, it now finds and becomes,
The shooting star so beautiful, in another man’s fantasy
The shooting star comes then, to a fiery tragic end
More the so, considering its mockery thus far, by fate’s tragic hand
But should the shooting star realize,
The beauty of its flight, is a dream whom others fantasize
That even though its life, is an endless torment,
But serves as the mead of dreams, waiting in expectant ferment
Should it know, that a poet at least besides gazing at its dying glory,
Empathizes and hereby, tells its tragic, yet noble story
Would it lessen even one bit, its pain, grief, sorrow,
Though there may not be, another tomorrow
The poet and the shooting star
posted by crescent moon at 7:39 PM
3 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
i like the first 3 paragraphs a lot, the idea of a sad n beautiful thing. but then the last paragraph is like an explanation for the poem, which i think can be done more subtle or done wifout, since by readin the first 3 paragraphs the reader already know e picture u're tryin to paint.
interestin, wats the original piece like?
I will send you the original if i see you, but its good, and is a style that i am not good with cos it uses imagery images instead of things seen in nature but its great i feel
Post a Comment
<< Home