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position a star and its children
-with planets chained to looped paths,
preceding an elipsis or question mark,
following automatic trails of those before-
and then tell me its hard work
to redefine what’s written
in the universe’s script.
a moon protects its world,
with craters and wounds as deep
as its loyalty to its world:
it wears each mark like a medal,
hangs a flag of surrender in strange patriotism.
honour the way it shields humanity from the truth
of rebel bodies that fly like fiends,
hurtle towards another to destroy.
our admiration for its duty almost rivals
the mystery of its darker side.
don’t forget secrets hide far behind its face.
no one wants to find them (or even look)
for fear of some greater meaning.
silence as every scream upon this marble
of teal oceans or slate in stacks
fades away into the blankness that will one day engulf itself.
similar to a star’s vicious explosion in supernovae,
and flying colours illuminate a night sky
(though time’s a construct),
saturate a black oblivion
for a split second.
the brightness of hope
blinds an onlooker, who only wanted
change, and a reason.
i sit before the dark matter,
and empathise with a burning ball of gas.
beside me, a bird perched upon a branch,
wishing for conscious thought
to love the cosmic glitter it can never reach.
space and its magic astounds no one.
not anymore. with a complex to stagger every earlier age,
we lack comprehension and love for our star,
born into a life of chaos and painful heat,
finally satisfied with its cold death
as it descends into a dormant state,
from which no light can escape-
perhaps an effect of its longing for hope
which it was denied for so long.
we pose on a grassy mound in utter darkness,
stare at a gigantic question mark.
look upon a constellation of strength
and wisdom, possessed by its own dark energy,
expands towards the point of no return,
sneaks into repose, where we dream of love
(unrequited but meant-to-be nevertheless).
someday we’ll thank our lucky stars,
but for now, we’ll lean on an elipsis
and wait for some reckoning.
in bewilderment of the moon’s power
to set the most sane man loose into an odd freedom,
prompting a question about his trivial existence,
i smile.
and the moon smiles back.
The moon has its ways of inspiring awe,
Taking on different forms, challenging static notions of identity—
And when it chooses to shine bright, it affirms it has never been any less a whole—
missy brown Apr 18
retrograde motion
take a pause, a backward step
it's all illusion
Yaryna Feb 24

You said you wanted to make things clear.
But weren’t they clear before?
When you decided to put your head on another pillow
Of a girl that was much easier than me?
To speak to or trying to love to,
In indescribable ways that could ever exist.
I was a bad artist, trying hard to paint on your skin.
And you treated art as another imitation of reality.
It's normally hard to get a girl who came from Jupiter,
When your heart belongs to cold-hearted Moon.
And even in another life, we don't belong,
Though you keep lying, that we do.
If you ever meet eyes that are that green as mine,
Don't forget to treat that treasure well,
Maybe one day she will show you the masterpiece
That I could not draw on your arms.
Or back.
Or whatever.
Maybe art is not the thing that you will ever get.
Marla Feb 20
Gazing at the stars,
One can understand our world.
Through various cycles,
Astral bodies align into harmony
Just as our bodies are driven
By compulsions we cannot explain.
There is no telling why it is so,
Yet many take the potency of space's dominion with skepticism.

If you think it suspicious,
Consider this:

If you could paint fate itself
On to the canvas of the cosmos
Where all would see;

If you could let your creations
Know how they were meant to be
Without forcing them to do your whim;

If you could hold the very stars
In your hands and write a letter
As god to your readers down below;

Why wouldn't you?
Yaryna Feb 19

This winter I think about you, not about how it snows.

Not about which sweater is warmer to wear.

As a moonlight, you appeared on my threshold.

And why my life before you wasn't fair?

Read me as cards, spreading them on the bed.

Interpret my kisses as Venus's message.

You know, my name don't exist in those books that unread.

With you, there's lack of the air of a seamless atmosphere.

At night, the stars die away, falling over your shoulders.

From my skin, I wash away all the curses of others' hands.

Coin your name on my lips and do whisper,

That is me, your favorite of all pseudosciences.

Do not tell about me anyone except the Moon.

It's too intimate so that I live in someone else's head.

I am passionate and free in your heart, as Sagittarius constellation.

You're on my neck, like the chains of comets that are raspberries.

Promise, if I'm lost, you will be looking for me in your dreams.

In the labyrinths of the milky ways and thousands of solar years.

I will keep this magic in black and white pictures.

And once I will give it to universe forward for hundreds of centuries.
Yaryna Feb 19

My dear dreamy boy, who came from Moon
Is it already spring in February?
.I believe you saw me crying like this before.
You knew your love for me was temporary.

It's warmer on the streets than ever was.
Maybe it's because you left my town.
Am I able to know why'd you put us on pause?
Why with this winter grief you have stolen my crown?

My dear dreamy boy, do you feel enough?
To have another broken heart in your collection.
Is it really true love when it's gentle then tough?
So I'm asking the stars that formed your constellation.

I have read all my books and cleaned every window
Still not enough to fill my space without you here.
Every time in my dreams, you appear as a hero.
That tragic one, probably killed by Shakespeare.

My dear dreamy boy, could we do it any better?
To live through lows and highs and never give it up?
Too sad that I was picking up the pieces that you shatter
And couldn't hold the fire from your hands that easily erupt.

I won't have any questions 'cause you gave me an answer.
So do it as you do, let's cut the last one string,
You did just great destruction as for a fragile Cancer.
It's February, dreamy boy, but still, it feels like spring.
Juhlhaus Jan 31
Hangs overhead by a solitary thread
Pommel set with Lucifer's jewel
Crossguard made of crescent moon
The Blade a king's interminable doom
On January 31, 2019 in the darkness before dawn I witnessed the triple conjunction of Venus, Luna, and Jupiter in perfect alignment, creating the shape of a long sword in the southern sky. Venus (the "Light Bringer") adorned the pommel, the waning crescent moon formed the crossguard, and kingly Jupiter gleamed at the blade's point. The omen was revealed to me as the fabled Sword of Damocles (dam-uh-kleez) which hangs over all those in seats of power, suspended by a single strand of hair.
m h John Jan 31
How could you
Not be fascinated
By astrology when
She is an entire
Constellation
She’s beyond the stars
Kenji Jan 23
"Do you have a lighter? Am I dancing **** yet? Are you watching me because I move alone?"
Well, look a little harder, because as glass reflects on me I reflect back revealing the other side of me.
Two-sided.
She dances with ease.
Do you feel the pain because it's pain that I unleash.
I am the inner reflections of your mutable contingencies.
I switch up as I am never at true peace with just my self.
Look at me, watch me...
Feed on me as I feed onto you.
The perplexities of my intentions are at it's core when I move.
Lost, but just a crazy ******' Gemini with the ability to play with your mind.
Do you see it?
I do.
And she's nasty.
Taste her, lick her, **** her.
She's the dark side of me and she's waiting to play.
Tear me up like I'm your doll and grasp onto my insides like the strings have been attached so the grip cannot lose itself in your sins of your embellishment.
Dress me up, move me.
You are my puppet and I only wanna tease your mind.
**** me like a twist of your mad insanity.
Taste, and watch me because, I move alone.
The Gemini Rising and Black moon in Gemini within me. The dark side
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