The man on the moon was busy that day,
With all the preparations underway,
For it was the one day his neighbors would pay him attention.
His home would be more interesting than a constellation,
For it was the day of the occultation.

Ever since the moon landing,
            And since his poor soul opted for hiding,
The celestial man had been planning his big reveal,
To show the world that he, indeed, existed,
And was willing to be befriended.

What better day could he have chosen,
Than the day of the eclipse.
The day in which the most earthling eyes would be pointing the natural satellite.
The ever present, but not always visible ball in white.
That day it would be red and bloody.
The planet’s one and only kite.

So the man in the moon prepared signs,
Meticulously home-made and home-drawn every single one.
He had been studying human languages and was fascinated by them,
He would be greeting the earthlings in 6500 different tongues,
And didn’t forget to do little drawings on the sides.

About an hour too early he had finished decorating,
So he took his folding chair and tray of food,
He brought his moon pie, moon cakes, and some local cheese,
He also brought some moon flower tea for drinking.
Then he started waiting, waiting until his home turned red.

When the time came,
He remembered,
He had forgotten the most essential of his supplies,
And as the humans started looking,
He ran home to get his telescope.
He wanted humans to see him of course,
But he also wished to see realization dawning on faces on earth all around.
In his panic, on his way, he knocked all decorations down to the ground.
Trying to desperately locate his telescope,
He spent a few too many hours away from his post.

When he finally returned to his folding chair,
Accompanied by his telescope,
The moon was red no more,
And all the humans had gone to sleep,
So he bowed his head and dropped his eyes,
But as he was about to go back to his house in the skies,
He caught, through his telescope, a glimpse of a human,
Dreamily looking at the heavens,
Who had stayed up, even after the eclipse was over,
Because that young human didn’t care that the spectacle had ended,
But loved the sight of the moon all the time.

The man on the moon went to bed joyful that night,
For he had made an earthling friend,
Who would look lovingly at the moon,
Even when it wasn’t red,
Who found the moon wonderful and interesting,
Even in its everyday self.
Elizabeth Jul 13
It's what's in the night sky on mid-July evenings that reminds us to keep searching for beauty. The stars don't fear yesterday's sadness or the morning clouds that loom over the sky, covering the sun and all it's beauty, the stars are always just as bright. The stars remind us to keep searching, the milky way reminds us that there is hope for something bigger and better and even the little stars who shine a little less bright, remind us that we're still important even when we seem small. I hope you find what you're looking for. I hope your wish upon that shooting star comes true.
A shower from the stars will cleanse your soul
awknight Jul 8
red wine and tobacco
fill the cracks of the words we
are unable to let roll off the
unstable tongue

your skin crawls
as you shiver across
your own heavy gaze

I tremble into myself

skies fall around us
and drops of sunlight
shift into the room

we are picturesque parallels
of the approving universe  

every finite moment
has become infinite
We are our own system:

masses of stardust
which found each other
and called ourselves home
floating, amidst the unknown

  s l o w l y
s u r e l y

being pulled apart
by the same universe
that brought two planets
under the gravity of each other.
the moment something starts, one must already anticipate how it would end because nothing remains permanent.

the stars would always witness the things we do.
thank you for reading!
gabriela Dec 2013
when does the sky become us?
at what moment is the soul raised to the sky?
death, say some
and some ask why
the stars are dead
and because we watch them miles and miles
from where they rest
we are yet fascinated by
these flames that hang in shapes and forms
that make up our night sky

but what if our night sky is
in fact not made up of souls?
if astronomy did not, shall not,
will not display our human bones
I would in fact believe that
the sky does make up your soul

I do believe your heart's the moon
and constellations map out your veins
so when they ask if our souls look down from above,
I'll say I'll ask when I see you again.
Gonzalitu May 14
En este mundo universal,
cada uno tendrá su espacio.

Hay personas pequeñas y grandes,
cercanas y distantes.
Las hay sólidas e inalterables,
como gaseosas y maleables.
Hay quienes que por su energía,
brillan con luz propia y
acogen a quienes las rodean.
Como también existen fugitivos:
los desprotegidos errantes.

Otros, cubrirán con sus polvos de colores
a todo lo que les rodea.
Mientras que otros, fulgurarán sólo una noche,
para quienes despiertos los vean.

Ensordecer con un destello es un final,
pero desaparecerse en lo oscuro,
o morir en el olvido del anillo,
también es válido.

En grupo, los astros
se comportan particularmente.
Veremos cúmulos que cerrados, sus miembros,
apagándose esperan la muerte.
En el otro extremo, aquellos abiertos,
son las nuevas y más brillantes generaciones.

Como galaxia, tenemos un objetivo (y) final
Más allá de nuestra fauna, provenimos
del mismo caos inicial y residuos de estrellas antepasadas.
Aún más común será nuestro entrópico final.

Los cuerpos se atraen y orbitan,
para siempre tenerse a la vuelta.
De a pares, intercambian energía,
se calientan e iluminan.
Será un día que alineados,
algún humano los observaría.
A mixture of my two passions.
Hope you don't get annoyed by some scientific misassumptions.
zahra May 11
i will love you
even when the stars cease to exist
for they may dim and their lights may dwindle
but my love for you, my dear
it is as the sun that hides behind the moon
it will never falter
never fall
for like the sun for the moon
i will continue to shine behind you
so you can gleam brilliantly
dazzling all those in your path
Evan May 8
The Earth is in motion yet always in place,
A lonely speck of sand in the vastness of space;
No one knows where we are, no one even cares,
As eras fall and dim, time fades into air,
And no one will remember the idols we created,
The words we spoke, or the topics we debated;
All things become different yet remain as they are,
And all memories are forgotten amongst the stars.
Pinal May 2
If you look closely
There are words of another language
Engraved into the sky.
They tell a story
With the twinkling of the stars
The darkness of their absence,
The position of the planets,
The sun’s rising and setting,
And the moon’s orbit.

The same story has been told to our predecessors
Mothers read it aloud
To sooth the wails of their children
And lull them into a dreamy sleep.
Dreamers read it silently
Imagining themselves soaring past each word
With a trail of magic following behind them.

For centuries, this story was told
And only now
Are we deciphering
The language of the stars.
I really love the stars.
i am having the same old conversations
with the stars up in the sky;
supine, i ask them how much
of their beauty lingers within me
not much, i think.
silently, they stare back, blinking dazedly

i think i might just sleep now,
and let them blanket my dreams:
cold and dead and burning out, alas, like me
but still shining just enough
to soften the blow of nightmares
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