To be or not to be,
For me or not for me.
A color to describe my mood,
A duller way to explain the moon.
The stars are glinting, calling me to the sky,
Beckoning for me to join their holy host,
To enlist in their heavenly ranks,
To gaze on the edge of ethereal banks.
A million, trillion warriors in mismatched order
Like the lines of this poem, no conventional pattern or rhyme.
Maybe the eternal soldiers are waging a war,
Fighting the infinity full of blackened lore.
Maybe it's not a mystery,
And the lights above are no enigma,
Maybe burning balls of gas just birth the greatest imaginations.
Share This Poem