A heavy heart, leadened
by the weight of pain, hangs
like a folding star within
some misbegotten frame.
Moth-eaten tapestries make
the most ridiculous claims,
“Idiot-weaver, creator, believer,
I am he, and I give you gravity!”
“Why me?”
I ask, ashamed.
It never mattered,
because I am pulling myself
into the emptiest
of empty spaces.
Step-by-step,
as I complete my paces,
this new star chart glints
with a new constellation.
Stitched in threads of gold,
the gold, it gleams,
along the curves
of our faces.
An odd stylistic choice…
to the void, the visages scream –
from the nothing, returned,
is the endless tone,
“eeeeeeeeee”
Yet, Orion has his starry belt,
ol’ Ursa shakes her stinking pelt,
and somewhere a maiden cries
a pearly tributary, teardrops,
that drift along, verily,
and cast their glimmer
into the sticky pitch of night.
…and I
have their company
to keep me…
Judge my worth
by what things I left,
worth keeping.
Otherwise,
I am there in the stars,
dulling, but still gleaming.
© CG Tenpenny, 2021.
