The Archery of Stars

Shine with pride, especially should
you face the shade.

You can say I’m
darkness incarnate, key in
the lock of light’s
disarmament,
but never would
I ever harm it
for I am a marksman,
vacuum my acumen, and the

sun is my bow,

archer with arrows of
illumination used to
pierce through

deep space.

Through wormholes of old, I have
aimed the physics of
turning phrase with

poisoned tips

at faults in our stars,
an underling’s yarn with Andromeda’s
arm length, a form
of strength the darkest of
reaches equipped
me with.

There are galaxies on
my lips, a universal tongue behind them, but it’s
the celestial kiss that
makes first contact with
stargazers.

Shine with pride, for some things
don’t have the
orbit to be deemed important by
warmth or light,
so we explore what comes
closest,

interstellar
flight.

 

 

 

 

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