When Scorpio Goes Dark

Antares' red glow bears firmly down upon plush, chartreuse carpet lying prone against the obsidian expanse, blanketing sections of a remote blue sphere, purling, spinning helplessly through distant time and space; slave to routine and rotation, never daring to break free; to reach out. Scorpius sprawls low across the Autumn void; a celestial corpse twinkling, twitching; inexplicably still breathing, expelling the last of her precious plexine light in a final, desperate act to awake inspiration, stir passion, proffer wholeness and healing to an infirmed, ungrateful planet, for her end-of-reign recession. Projecting dreams; visions like swirling Akashic holograms leaping forth from ancient pages of ethereal records, all but lost to time and apathy. Twisting snakelike through the cosmos, her broody gaze steeling in every direction; fierce energy bombarding; burning across the universe. Intense joules bursting forth; reaching out to nurture willing universal souls; scorching those who reject her, turning them to table fodder at a divine banquet for dark gods. Sagittarius flickers jovially behind as if breathless with laughter; taunting, frustrating, staying just out of reach of her vengeful tail. The rule of Scorpio wanes upon Orion's horizontal breach extinguishing the sting-ed cluster; quelling her tumultuous surge until late-spring pains rebirth her fires, igniting them, emerging again from the icy chasm of black oblivion.