Darling, the planet in the Western sky just after sunset, I've been telling it all about you.
I'd walk out my door and see it rising there,
The brightest thing around,
And I'd say your name low and soft,
Because if a wish on a star can come true, how about a whole planet?
It's Venus. Goddess of Love. The Evening Star.
The brightest planet known to man.
I should have known I'd make that one yours.
All the lore surrounding it and its name, and I've figured out it means not just love,
But birth and death as well.
One culture named it "Light Bearer", or Lucifer,
But it never fell.
It's still up there, and it means the euphoria of having everything you want
And the despair of knowing you could lose it.
I feel a little fallen, myself, looking up at it.
The longer I stare, the more I can see that it burns.
It grows and shrinks just slightly, and I've never known stars to truly twinkle,
But this does wink in the dusk like an exquisitely cut gem.
It is everything unattainable but comfortingly constant in its loveliness.
In a way it is cold and distant,
But it puts the waning sunset to shame, a light so pure and strong that the purple clouds below it
Seem like a heap of ashes among which one diamond glitters
Incongruously.
As everything sinks into shades of black, this one planet shines.
And even before I knew what it meant,
I knew what it meant,
And I murmured your name upon seeing it. The brightest.
The star that isn't a star.
The one that means everything it doesn't mean-
Love and death,
Sin and salvation.
The Evening Star.
I've always had my sympathies for Lucifer.