And sometimes the trees just don’t cut it.
and all there is to comfort us is the sky.
Even though it keeps itself distant, and
it holds itself high.
It tells us stories to get us by.
The dependence of meaning on a single star,
and its relations with the others its linked to,
Have comforted generations of the confused,
hurt, and the used,
Makes sense of the often excused.
When the stars, the suns, or the moons align,
we try to shift with the earth, to keep up,
we adapt quickly with fears we’ll be left behind,
so we run after skylines,
searching for a simple peace of mind.
What happens when the sky runs away?
or it can’t seem to break your fall.
When all you can do is sink into the floor.
Who will wish me well?
Who will hold me when I feel small?