A Song of Earth

A bird AND a plane

 

I wonder if the birds envy the planes,

If their ancestral stories of tell of times long and long ago,

Times when they were closer to God

Than any other being to walk across

This sacred Earth,

A time when seagulls laughed their taunting cry

As shoreward they soared,

A time when the youth were held in line,

And the elders were wiser by far,

A time when the air was purer,

And the sky was bluer,

And when you landed and looked up

And up

And up,

You could see not a paltry smattering of stars,

But rather, the glory of the universe herself,

The face of the Goddess each night revealed,

The broad brushstroke of her lips

Wrapped around the words

Of a love song about her home;

Her eyes sparkling

As she sung songs of Earth.

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The Voyage

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Distant and void,

Frigid and alone,

Far from where they started,

Yet no closer to where they’re meant to be,

Are two lonely little spacecraft

Tasked with filling the silent spaces between the stars

With the riotous song of the human dream,

Themselves dreaming of an ending,

A point in space and time

When they can rest,

And where they can find themselves spinning

Around some distant star unlike our own

On a collision course,

A billion years from now,

When humanity is but a ghost,

Echoing, lonely and lost,

Around the epicenter of a stage called Earth,

On which their song was sung,

Upon which their battles were lost and won,

From whose green and blue depths

 They launched two small voyagers

Just to say,

“We were here.”

Summer’s Ending Soon

Summer is what summer has always been.

It’s that moment in July

When you realize,

“Summer’s ending soon,”

And there is not a thing you can do

To stop the turning of the Earth,

Or the motions of the planets,

Or the revolution of the stars in their orbits

Around some distant galactic hub

Which I have and will never see,

Yet am assured by the most veritable authorities

Exists,

Somewhere impossibly distant from here,

Beyond the boundless distance between the stars,

Across time and space,

Itself turning with the eons,

Hurtling through space

On a collision course with its neighbor,

And I suppose I can relate

But then again, maybe not;

Maybe there are just some things beyond

The boundaries of what is relative and relatable

To the human experience,
Which is also something

I have never seen,

But which my humanity,

And your humanity,

And our collective humanity

Demands the existence of.

Summer is what summer has always been –

Our humanity at its finest,

Life and death balanced together on the edge of a knife,

Dancing with one another on the head of a pin,

Which brings into question once more

Just how many angels can, in fact,

Dance their divinity away on such a surface;

I say that the answer lies somewhere near the square root

Of the number two;

No one else seems to agree.

They Called Me Pluto

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Note: Previously published June 2016; Edited August 2017

They called me Pluto from afar, and I,
Nameless and void, embraced the title
With the force of a thousand burning suns,
Each one like the star I loved ever so dearly,
An immense sphere of fire which had me
Helplessly, hopelessly bound by its gravity,
Caught in its orbit from the beginning of time.

They called me Pluto still from further still,
Speaking my name as the orbit of myself
And their water world drove us apart,
And I gladly, worshipfully rejoiced –
I had a name; I was no longer void.
I was distant still, but they called me Pluto,
And I wore my name like regalia,
A crown upon my lifeless skin.

They called me Pluto still as they
Waded further from the cosmic shore
That was their home, sending probes
That touched the regolith of Mars –
There was life, and light, spreading out from Planet Earth,
So I waited, hoping they’d come for me
Sooner rather than later, tomorrow and not two centuries from now.

They called me Pluto even as they stripped me of my name –
I was ‘planet’ no longer,
And I grew colder and bitterer as I spun,
Because I knew things they did not,
Things about the rise and fall of civilizations.
They did not see what I had seen,
They had not been watching
Since the dawn-time.

They called me Pluto,
And they cried my name
As I watched them burn,
The light of the flickering candle in the dark
That had once been humankind
Flaring, more luminous than the sun for one bright, shining moment,
Then fading.

They called me Pluto in the aftermath,
As if I were the God of the underworld,
Guarding their lost souls from my far-off perch,
Shepherding that which could not be led,
But I was not their God, even if I’d once fathomed them as mine.
So here I wait, patient, eternal, void and barren,
For them to leave me lonely when they no longer
Dare to speak my name from the realm
I am the supposed guardian of;
They called me Pluto.