From out the window, a little boy gazed,

curious over what stars might say

if they ever came whispering wisdom to him,

but as his mother said,

"If the stars don't come down to speak to you,

build yourself a rocket ship

and fly to the moon."


From out the door a young man stared

at the wrist flicker sending a waterfall of hair

cascading to the shoulders of the girl he loved,

as she stood on his porch, hands on hips,

eyebrows raised, twitching lips.

He simply stood and lingered there,

until with an angered glare

she stormed off without saying goodbye,

he remained and watched and wondered why

above him the stars cried.


From out the porthole of a sky ship, an old man looked

as he passed by bubbly brooks.

Light and fire, colliding through the night,

as the spacemen in the shuttle floated to his right,

holding his hand, as if they could understand.

"It's okay, we're almost there, not long until upon the moon we'll land."

But no one could grasp the fact why

someone who traded his love for the skies

looked down from the dream he'd chased his entire life,

and saw the face of a girl 

burning through the night.

The End

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