Not of this world
From her heart she roars through space
She wept oceans from her blues
Her pied piper was a starman
Who scribed her love and sorrow songs
before she was but a twinkling in her father's eye.
She bares her teeth in rage
Her passion summons storms
Her flesh is vast and covered with constellations
Some always there and some fresh, old, and red
When astronomers or common men admire her
Simple pearls and every-day appearance
She's aware of their little understandings
of her supernovas, burning conglomerations,
Her dying stars crying before their combustions.
She's dreamt of a Starman to compose
Her love and sorrow songs
As one can explore where no man has gone before
They will never know her every Pandora, Venus or Mars.
They will grow cold though they started
When she was but twilight, knights saved her
Traced her stars and drew her dreams
But they were but mirages in the night,
untouchable extraterrestrials, meaningless hopes.
She draws her face behind clouds, or a storm of refuge
she sends out the sun
She calls for a nicer time of day
To take her place.
She's thumbed through pages of the stories
The universe has had to offer her
No night can save her at this point.