The (Scholars) Stargazers

Movement made
the first word
and then light,
which swelling beyond
space’s matter
made films or layers like
the chrysalis of some
self-existent being
whose eyes were on us
and who knew our movements,
small and catastrophic.
Light (whitest
intensest) pierced not only
mountains but bones and hands
and hearts;
saw through layers we call
the firmament,
entered by passages beforehand
hidden other being like us,
though masters of a certain craft we only
had begun to standardise
and entrain in our other thought.
Some taught in riddles
how to move through atmospheres
that to our ancestors were akin
to prisons;
they knew like He did
that words for all their symbolism
crafted keys which human hands
could grasp to turn,
turn locks without those secret layers
and find inside not things to do
with dreams but our heart’s desires—
real and examinable like
pearls of worlds,
like translucent trinkets
made for strings,
not dust and salt—
we spread our beds upon,
we slept atop
our hidden forms,
were made to walk in newness
such as man had not attained
since the times of children—
our own stardom,
music animating
journeyed and intelligent
stargazing, starclimbing,
starsilent scholarship.

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can read it here for free, or get it for your e-reader on iBooks, Amazon or Kobo. Or you can just say you read the book, and donate five bucks down below. Go on.

Gabriel Muoio


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