Notes About The Poem
poem written based upon this image from pinterest.com
Astral Workshop
In a room without walls,
stars lie scattered across a long workbench,
each one dimmed in a different way~
some cracked at the edges,
some holding a faint pulse
like a memory trying to stay lit.
Tools hang from nothing:
a hammer made of cooled starlight,
a spool of night threaded with silence,
a brush that leaves a trail
only the dark can read.
Someone
or something shaped like someone~
leans over a fractured constellation,
turning it slowly in their hands
as though checking where the story failed.
A soft sound rises,
not quite sorrow,
more like the sigh a myth makes
when it realizes it can’t return
to the shape it once held.
Pieces of old legends
glow on the floor,
still warm from the moment
they fell out of belief.
A wing, a vow,
a name that used to matter~
all waiting to be reassembled
into whatever truth remains.
And in the far corner,
a single star brightens,
not repaired,
not restored,
just choosing to shine
despite the fracture
running through its center.
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