Beginning of December, Christmas on its way.
Stargazing on top of Hodges Library, frost moon.
Campus is quiet on a Sunday night, the golden moon above, skull of a forgotten lord.
The lights all around, the stars scared away by the shining remains of the one that made them.
All quiet, all still, and the cold brings peace as Monday is coming, and it all begins again.
I don’t miss you anymore. I don’t want you back anymore.
Emma stargazer, in your backyard, looking up at the sky.
The countless suns and the endless worlds, the infinite dark.
Angels might reside in those far off worlds, a desperate paradise.
Maybe a better world, where we will not know the death of innocence.
A sorrowful aria in your headphones, a high call for solace in lost love.
A dream of a lover who left, a memory spoiled with his unkind words.
If you walked the ancient cities, the desolate crimson plains, silver skies,
the memory would fade in all the wonder, all the miracles of the universe.
To lay down on the cool grass, and look up into the stars, to just drift
as a sleep, perhaps enchanted, brought by weeping, sympathetic fey,
to those wonders long dreamed of, alone in the night, alone in the sky.
A dream of the worlds that offer all the miracles, and none of the bitterness.
Shepherdess, looking up at the stars,
at the endless silver of their light
and the soft shadows of the darkness.
The sheep and the little lambs asleep,
a moment for herself, before she too
closes her eyes to dream.
As she drifts into slumber, she is at peace,
and this miraculous night passes away,
lost forever when the shepherdess passes on.