Shapes and characters and the form.
Surmised affects became a norm.
Hung in some precise array.
By what or whom, cannot say.
Images on darkened sky.
See some of the reasons why.
Why we might do what we do.
Why I am me and you’re you.
Questions as deep as the night.
Hold upon us getting tight.
Why do these objects take such hold?
The display we see is quite old.
A distant view of age-old skies.
How could such things give us a why?
Why or how things might align.
Is there not some nearer sign?
There are few words to explain.
But inside it’s more than plain.
Upon celestial mess reveals,
A reflection of how we feel.
Some ordered cos-machination?
Or just our imagination?
A space we dream up instead.
Reflections move in our head.
Round and round the cycles turn.
Upon time these objects burn.
In man’s own godlike potential,
The stars seem in consequential.
Product of our own projection.
On this there is much objection.
“Those stars made me lose control.”
“In its tales I am consoled.”
Hanging burdens in the distance.
Ease tragedies of existence.
In defiance of sensibility?
To free us from responsibility?
For a ride through space and time.
The price secured to a line.
Or some strings pulled from where?
On these splays we sit and stare.
It’s the cosmos within ours.
Rhyming ’rangement of the stars.
Doesn’t mean those tales aren’t true.
It is above as well in you.
© 2019 TheRememberings Ltd.