Son of Star

Ah, son of star
I see you, up there,
blinking and wavering
from the constant
burn.
What you wouldn’t give
to fall from heaven
and dive into
the ocean.

But the ocean is vast
and dark and cold,
and so very unlike
the family
of stars.
Burning, as they may,
from the essence
of their souls.
Living.

Spinning and burning
worlds and moons,
jewels and gold,
up there.
Painful as tedious
as it may be
to shed bits of
yourself.

But you, son of star,
in your own spin,
see only
pain.
You think the fish
and whales of the sea
would love you, more dear
as a cold rock?
Dead?

At least not hurting.
At least not waiting.
At least not spinning
away you’re own flesh
in hopes a galaxy
would be born.

I see you, son of star.
Wavering and flickering
in your
existence.
Afraid of the burn
afraid of the fall,
but knowing
It’s not for nothing
at all.

Brighten, star.
Embrace the pain
of your burning.
I will watch
and keep my hands
just above
the sea.

Just in case

you fall.

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