I stood on my
self designed Pedestal.
Over-importance imbedded in
my momentous stance
chiseling at the moon.
I was tearing it down.
The sun was stolen
from my careless flawed hands.
The stars alone know where sol is.
I could have asked Cetus
Hercules, Scripio, or Orion
but they were hidden from me.
Behind my own wall
built out of ashy bricks
forged from my own pride.
So I look for my celestial wife
behind the thieving moon
Not everything wrapped in
soft silky words so paper thin
are meant to strike fear
in the hearts of civilians.
Luna, cloaked in mythology
and blissful smiles, grins
as she holds the sun,
the guiding light
in her backstabbing palm
away from me, never calm
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