Thursday, February 14, 2013

distant sons/suns...

Sometimes I pretend that
all the stars in the night sky
are really everyone's lit cigarettes

and the one closest to the moon,
shining brightest

is you.

One friday afternoon,
I dreamt I held your star
tightly in my hand,

and as I squeezed I could feel its cool burn
on my closed palm.

Later that night,
on closer inspection skyward
I realised something was wrong.
For up in the heavens,
close to the moon

your star had gone.

I looked in my palm again,
but it was empty.

The next morning,
a group of angry astrologers
woke me up, beating on my door.

"Without that one star"
they shouted,
"the skies we rely on,
they don't make no sense no more!!"

Later on that same day
I was visited by a team of NASA scientists too.
They say
"Without that one star by the moon,
our science is completely screwed!!!"

And on the telly tonight,
I saw a group of sailors have
lost their way home.

Here was me (selfishly) thinking
that this was affecting me alone.

With the aid of a telescope,
where you once were I can now see
a tiny hole,

of which I feel a part.

And closing my eyes,
I can still see you burning bright
in a fragile constellation of the heart.

Shine on, Pete!
Death, it  is not the end, my friend...
The journey is never over.

And you burn brighter than ever now,
You crazy supernova!!

Sometimes I pretend
that all the stars in the night sky
are really everyone's lit cigarettes,

and the one closest to the moon
was you.

I must remind myself...

We are the distant sons,
 we are the distant brothers;

And some of us are destined
 to burn out faster than the others...


(c) Brent M Harpur, 2003/2013.

"Stranded starfish have no place to hide,
  Still waiting for the swollen Easter tide.
  There's no point in direction, we cannot even choose a side."
  (Peter Gabriel, 'Here Comes the Flood'.)

- For Pete Dion
(Ten years have passed, my friend. I still miss you, hope you're happier now,
  and that you found some peace.)

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