Friday, November 12, 2010

Ode of Halley’s Mother

Some hold their children like trophies
Look at what I’ve done
I’ve won the prize
Isn’t it perfect? Aren’t I good?

And theirs sit on the shelf
in the corner, gather dust
lifeless, boring prettiness
until boxed up and carried away

I watch you like a comet
rage across the sky
fly in the face of reason
flee all that burns of me

You play in black holes
and return unscathed
In your path is passion
laughter, drive

My setting sun glows
you rise to music
dash about time
shield your eyes to my light

In need of nothing
you feed on your own fire
forge personal trophies
spill sparks of your day to me

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