Monday, August 29, 2011


Echoing from ages past,
The gods sing and dance amid the endless sky;
Forming brilliant crimson and sapphire-tinged rings,
They burst into prismatic pirouettes
That shimmer across star-studded sable.

The Archer watches,
His constellate bow stands strung;
His eyes burning, he turns away and sighs.

Far, far below,
Glow the tiniest stars of all:
The pallid reflections of the silver moon,
Gleaming in your lonely eyes.
Outside, are buzzing fireflies,
Dancing in constellations all their own,
Beneath the ever-watchful gaze
Of the god-filled skies.

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