Poem ~ Starry Child

I wrote this one in my sleep during the night. It took me three days to figure out what I meant by it.

Black beads
Granules, all unique
The pain by them is by the inflicted
Only amplified by their own attributes
Amongst the unstable, the tolerate, and the blind
Is found finally a little life
A broken grub that may now be mine

Oh little child, what is this I see
Quivering in your scar-less palm
Look around to what may be
To the brighter treasures others have found

How may the young one speak
Of the nature of the bright spectacles
Of the playful hunt of the other youth
Of the treasures they hardly cherish
That these are but granules too

The salt, bright and clear
Cleans its way through
Off the chin
Cleans its way into the hand
The little grub drinks it in
The child cries,
“I cannot play with you”
and sets him in the earth again

Dry eyes look around
For the food of the elder’s words

The golems dance to the most ancient modern tune
Singing “We love you, we hate you too”
Was a brief painting, quickly cracked
This heart did try to move for a time
Yet the tears return again too soon

Where, oh marionettes, can your love be found?
In the acid, and the weakness of the air
Oh how you dance, there must be life in thee
We are but dusty stone
Our life is just the breath of a song
In our burning dust, you must share
So that you may too be only what you sing

So shadows may desolate
So they may destroy the security of warmth
The only proof of the day
Is in the silvery curve carved in the sky

Oh little child, what is this you see
Shimmering by the moon
There is a starry child
calling toward you

How may the young one speak
Of the beauty in her song
Of how it makes him long
Of the way it is wrong
She does not call for him

Little grub, your brother shines
May that I know him too
He is brought much glory by the one
That he is calling to

And so the ocean flows and ebbs
For the child’s burning wish
Fills a balloon worn and ripped

He lays there, in the crumbling dirt
Waiting for the starry child
She dances with them to the golems’ song
Her life is real, for her love is wrought
For the glowing being she has made
In her arms as they embrace
And the child looks on