Time erodes the surface of Saturn,
even as it adds a satin sheen to its rings.
We walk a path sown with celestial beings,
weeping jewels mistaken for stars.
Lost souls make wishes upon them,
as they solemnly seek darkness.
There is hope, we always say,
as night claims us and the universe
always misunderstood tries to steal
our kisses before they touch the evening star.
Time and hope are our constellations.
Love will keep them in sight as they dim.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~~
Strong influence by Pablo Neruda. My love for the sky is evident.
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