Stars Over a Battlefield
Even in battle- the stars like burning bees
trapped in their own dark honey, ignore
the dying. Who can blame them;
they have their own worries.
Without compassion, the dead reshape
geography of bones, of rough-forged wounds,
of bleeding, memorize their own eulogies,
begin their slow descent
into violets and weed.
How can such beauty be un-mourned,
the un-natural in a natural world
confirm its certainty?
As for apathetic stars: merely leftover
light on an unending journey, not unlike
recurrent dreams we have of resurrection.
Who can understand their jealousies,
their cold indifference?
Monday, May 11, 2015
A superb thought-provoking write.
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