PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

They derogate, those visitors, but above the

bay Biscaynian it will appear, just after the

time once known as dusk.  Upon the

water's surface, I float as if suspended by the

force of my desire to behold that star,

despite the arduous efforts to achieve the

logistical accomplishment just to see it.

They approach, those inquisitors, but the

star has risen in right ascension out of that

direction the ancestors, with their lips and

tongues, declared as the foremost East.  The

star twinkles, its light produced by the

fusion of hydrogen in its core.  It occupies the sku

alone and solitary and glorious; alone and solitary.

They intrude, those enviers, as the

star ascends to its highest possible

point above me and I can preserve the

image in my memory, for I suspect I

shall not achieve this portion yet again; but

I, and I only, have looked up the first star to

sparkle after the myriad millenia starless.

They attack, those slimegobs to which the

alteration of hmanity declined.  Flesh became

convenient cystoplasm and limbs became

extendabble retractable pseudopods; individual

senses fell away, replaced by telepathos of all;

nothing secret, nothing withheld any longer, but

I, alone of them all, have looked up the star.

They punish, those torturers, with the zeal of

their unrestrained and jealous savagery, that I

have been condemned for this private evolution---

my own, and not the community's in its profusion---

long agonies to be suffered before they allow me to die.

With silent curses not borne on a scream or cry,

they mount me and---oh, pain!---crush my only eye!

Starward