Putrefy

she made the sky — the sun and stars
from crystalline shards of her own broken heart.
her fingers transformed their dull lament
and into her tapestry willingly went.

she took special care, the girl in the moon
to keep them apart — the gold and the blue.
one seemingly bottomless, filled with despair,
the other suspended, sparkling fair.

she kept them shining — the stars, that is,
for her life was dependant on her ascesis.
and without those glittering orbs in the sky,
the girl in the moon would eventually die.

so she polished and polished, day after day
to keep the sky bright and wizened hands away.
but time after time, they dulled — yes, the stars
and she watched in disdain as he came from afar.

his presence unnerved her, the moon’s only child
and she watched as he turned her creation quite wild —
wild with pain, wild with grief, wild with unexplained fear
for his chilling unrest pierced the whole astrosphere.

yet she let him inside, with all of his faults
and watched in disdain as he merrily waltzed —
through her lifetime’s creation, her only outlet.
yes, he parried destruction across her vignette.

and he picked and he pulled, the man from the dark,
unravelling stitches and culling the spark.
as her work was refracted, her life force receding,
she could only watch with her whole body aching.

she knew he would win — if only for now
yet she wished that she could have stopped him somehow.
because without her constancy, stars in the sky
the calmness of evening would dissatisfy.

this is not the story of love trumping hate,
nor a heartwarming telling of evil set straight.
no, this is the tale of the girl in the moon
and how she succumbed to the dark’s importune.