Comets

I remember the comets

 

The day my walls fell—

Crooked as my reality

Crumbles into a rubble

I felt choked as

Fate’s hand throws dust

Into my eyes blinding

Me—from seeing the comet shower he

Promised I could enjoy.

 

I had never seen fallen comets

Or shooting stars,

Nor had I experienced the heartbreak

Of seeing the sky shine bright with a sunset

As the flash of colors usually marks Indepedence

On the fourth day—working into beautiful balls

Of explosion—I was nine

And wanted to see shooting stars—

I never saw them at night—

I saw flying comets and broken castles

Charred in the flames of

Hell-fire.

 

I remember sitting in my chair, waiting.

 

Waiting…

1+1 = 2

2+1 = 3

3+1 = 4

4+1 = 5

minutes

before the comets

came

seconds before I

knew fear

 

I saw my personal soldier, my

Bodyguard run into my classroom,

Embodied in fear as

My comets came that day.

 

I was nine and I wanted

To make a wish

Upon these fallen comets as the smoke

And fire burn my memory.

 

I was nine as my wishes came

True, but my wish turned into

A prayer written and

Folded into closed hands—clenched—

Cleansed by the tears of fear as Fate

Permanently blinded more people from seeing

The comets fly as a beautiful

Meteor shower.

 

I remember the comets—

Gravestones—

Wasteland.

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