If past history was all there was to the game, the richest people would be librarians.
‘Oh! What can ail thee, shining star in the sky?’
That have watched over me from a place afar;
With your wandering eye, there were the birds fly,
Way up high in the sky to hide from the war.
For many years have I been bright in the night.
Whilst watching over the warm earth with my eye,
I have seen many a thing has dimmed my light.
Such as when you humans make each other cry.
For many years have I watched you from afar.
And even from here I hear sounds as men die,
Rippling through the still air into my ear.
Making me cry as tears with my eye I spy.
And just as men get wounds fighting in the war.
And get nasty scars that cling to them for life.
So has this shining star been wounded with scar,
By what he saw that cut him like a sharp knife.
And so, this pain I gained in my side;
Is what ails a shining star in the sky,
At night when his light is not so bright.
© 2019 The Poets Peace