The Stars Are Our Understudies

The sunset was our biggest and best mistake One glorious disaster Blooming into the light it had not, was not, able to create The holy mirror hanging in the dreary day Oh saintly reflection of the thousands of faces multiplying into the myriad of stars That would politely bow with a tip of their hats as they introduced themselves "We are your replacements We are the muse of the whole world We are the limit You reach out, strain, groan, beg, bite, reel, wax, wane, copulate Groan again, battle, Rattle, hum, and will never touch us We are not there You have been gnashing your teeth, reaching for yourselves You see me and my brethren and see infinity Two eyes surrounded by frames moving endlessly in a telltale figure eight The smoke ceasing to settle It will straighten, and the bars will clear up and clear out Stumbling skeptics, lunatics, and priests alike We all falter, cheekbones greeting the gravel as they are ground Down, down, down You need answers Your vision is finite yet searching for magic Your vision is cemented in scope but longs for silver bells complimenting hipster haired Angels Shouting oracles of fate, love, and faith to the heavens that are bursting out of Our feet Fingers, hair, and facial cracks Stretching the physical until it tears, or rather unravels Like balls of blue and yellow yarn Tumbling in slow motion down the stairs as We stare from out the back of your heads Your skulls are fixed Downward facing creatures forced to look upwards at the miracles of the sky that We had Created by accident" What brilliance