But Not for me

Big Bright Beautiful World

I paused in the moonlight to gaze upon a star.

Twinkling lights reached out illuminating the dark.

Time passed. Eight became four held by a ring.

Each stop became more a beautiful struggle,

Until we stood below in awe of the tree.

Only to discover the pain of going home.

Newfound feelings feign the feel of home.

The sky illuminated by star upon star.

Distracted I couldn’t see the forest for a tree.

A victory abetted in the safety of the dark,

I thought I had beaten the struggle;

I discovered the meaning of the ring.

As time passed, stretching fought the ring,

And a place of the heart felt less like home.

Day after day the growing struggle

Left me searching, unable to find a star.

The horizon faded into the dark;

The leaves abandoned the tree.

Waiting for it, never to come, alongside the tree.

All the while both of us growing a new ring.

The hands are lost to the dark.

I hang my head at the loss of a home.

My path is unguided void of a north star.

I am weary, tiring of the struggle.

Why world? Why must every toil lead to a struggle?

The cold brings the nostalgia of a blossoming tree

Covered in white. Flowering the tree star by star.

The whole is broken shards adorn the ring.

Life contracts as existence returns to home.

The low failing fire fends of the dark.

The absence of light defines the dark.

The fire has succumbed to the struggle.

Sameness is the mantra of home,

And dormancy that of the tree.

I’m held to my course round and round the ring;

I seek escape from the magic of a star.

I had lost the struggle to the dark:

The ring, the home, the tree. Lost.

But a western star guides me home.