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The stars were beautiful tonight, as were you.
I am tempted to become an astrologer or maybe an astronaut. But there are no answers in the sky. Faith is stepping through the door - float-ing-in-a-most-a-pec-u-li-ar-way-ay Am I nebulous? I am blanketed by the sheer number of lights woven across the sky. My heart, my body - points on a plane randomly placed within the fabric of a bright universe. I am earth bound and interstellar - everywhere and nowhere - my blood, like mercury rising - another heretic burning with the knowledge that no strings and wires hold the heavens in place despite the assurances of those who love us. And you stand beside my burning bones holding a match. But the stars look very different today. They are drawn in, held down, like us pushed and pulled by gravity, by magnetism, by love, by hate. We are all ghosts groping for truth beneath the moonlight - coal under the weight of earth and time - diamonds waiting to be born. |
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Header art by T. Guzzio. Original photo via USDoD.
CONNECT WITH TOM:
In addition to editing Prodigal's Chair, Tom is a teacher, father, husband, writer, artist, futbol fan and slightly maladjusted optimist. He lives in Beverly, Massachusetts with his wife and their cocker spaniel, Honey (who approves this message). You can connect with him on Twitter @t_guzzio, or via email at [email protected].
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