The Lonely Star
There thou art today again,
Twinkling just to draw it,
The same lonely cast vacant
Missing every poetic sign
That reveals thy true depth.
Unimaginable the hardship taken,
There twinkling ominously overcast
To skim o’er it a tender grace,
Unfelt, bereft of a live vein,
Palled a void crammed—
Still it sees thou up there.
As a grey smog wreathes,
It feels embedded, chained.
If a drop of its absurdity fated
Be of any for thy condolence,
It has it, only, a medium.
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