Look down for a minute, from your solitary star:
there are mines there, of gold, I know,
but they are worth nothing, when you get to them, if you are haggard,
grey, and cold;
if your body stiffens and your soul is sleeping,
I promise nothing shines for miles,
even if you’re sitting on a moon-rock pile, with the cosmos
in twinkling
sight,
see: all that space-dust, will make you blind,
to anything but a sleepless night.
Endless space, only makes a cage;
if you never wipe the grit from your face, and your tunnels
are all the paths you can see:
the next piece
of glittering gold, there in the rock
to chip free and bring fortune,
like a river’s full flow;
but fortune is a wheel and a warning, you know,
she is a fairy,
of malice and spite,
who throws many a king from the greatest heights, with her clacking
touch, of bone,
Forget-Me-Not,
the simple throne, of the kingdom you already survey:
everything touched by the break of day, and the rise of temperate stars…
all you lay your eyes upon,
or embrace in tender arms; is an empire yet.
Look down…
I will leave the runway lit,
bright, like the jewels in your crown…
and at the end of the path, I’ll be waiting,
spaceman,
when your rocket-wheels touch down.
No comments:
Post a Comment