The Moon Doesn't Exist and the Stars are Dead
The moon doesn’t speak to me like it used to.
Stars silent specks of solitude in the sky,
Rather than wondrous beings that guide me
Home. I used to wish on shooting stars,
Until I realized I was too late because the stars
Were dead. A million years ago I’d be granted my
Wish but now I’m wishing on dead souls. Flashes
Of glitter turn to dust. Ashes. What are you leaving
Behind? A galaxy. Why do you fall? To get away
From the living, to a new beginning. On Earth the moon
Doesn’t speak to you, covered instead by the commotion
Of life, replaced by the rays of the sun. Bright.
But sometimes voices sneak through. And other times hidden,
And wonders become dust. I know a few of the dead.
Inspired by, and including, the line: “and wonders become dust. I know a few of the dead” from American Sonnets for my Past and Future Assassin by Terrance Hayes