Wanted sleep – “death will guarantee it, one un-promised morrow”
Hunger panged – “a meal or two skipped, will not ruin your health”
Icky grossness – “psyche your gut strong and start gutting the Ahi”
No appetite – “waste not, and think of all those dying of starvation”
Elevated brags – “you’re no better than other mortals, we’ll all die!”
Never minded a child’s request: do as I say, not as I do, always won
Of the unceasing smoking, lungs blackened to cough a bloody achoo
The whine isn’t always groundless; listen fore you bullishly silence it!
(9/9/20: '01 Regal Commodore 3260; DMS)
Ursa Major commands an army of stars
on their circumpolar midnight watch.
Steadfast soldiers of the navy-blue universe
wait shimmering, shivering
in cold solar winds behind shadows
of an icy-white summer moon.
As keepers of dreams
and protectors of both Pleiades
and earth-bound sisters,
they bullishly occupy their assigned bunkers
throughout Via Lactea.
Companies of constellations
stand at parade rest
while one Sergeant at Arms,
snaps orders to His celestial battalion.
With sabers of light in hand,
they man their posts, ready to thwart
any who would disturb my sleepy peace.
Because He watches over me,
I smile up into the heavens tonight
then dream my dreams
in confident repose oblivious
of the dark clouds of matter
along the Milky Way.
He is the Sentinel keeping me
safe through the night.
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