Little Star by W.C. Gerber (read after .TXT) 📕

Little Star: Part I

"What a crater you have! What a pain indeed!
Surely it shall leave a scar,
What stain upon your luminous brow,
Such a crater will surely mar!"



"Don't heed, Good Doctor, I assure you now
I hold precious this strangest scar.
It came from beyond the Milky way
from the smallest of the stars.
And if you have the time to stay and hear of my adoration,
I will spill my clumsy words to tumble through all creation."



"Surely I do and surely I have,
for now I am surely drawn.
I have an hour to spare
before the calling of dawn."



"Then sit yourself down and rest for the time
and I will indulge in a story
and lose myself in an endless dream
to see my love in memory."



"Through the endless night shoots my little star
straying to infinity and fraying the cosmic seams.
How I wonder when again I'll see that little star,
looking into the eternal abyss
and waiting in my dreams..."

I floated along a balmy night content without a muse,
content without a lot of things in a habit of thirty-one.
Not days nor years were counted then,
for the careless never count,
ignorant of all the more that would reach beyond the sun.
I was staring across the amber meadows,
streaked with shades of blue,
an inky sea was leaking forth, staining the satin sky.
The mountains of pearl descended upon
the horizons endless journey
and the first lights of diamond drops
were changing the aquatic hue.

When the strangest thing, such a strange thing
approached the clutches of my sight:
a dot that swirled and fluttered about,
and dove through the habitual cadence.
It glowed the strangest glow and wandered free in a
careless bow
void of pattern and all consistency
fading like an echo, and spiraling out of sight.

Then there was darkness deeper than before,
returning from curious wonder
to a sudden world lacking whimsy.



The days droned by in delirious habit
as I woke to each descending night.
Confusion woke with me in the mornings
concerning that little light.



But I shrugged it off as curious simplicity
ignoring the complex curiosity.
I questioned it not and returned to routine,
glowing alone in the consistent scene.

But then one night the thoughts I once bore
seemed to be all but gone.
I found they survived in persistent remnants
as a flicker caught my eye.



I composed my excitement as I lifted my eyes
to spot that little light,
but before I could cry a greeting and notice
it returned to the blackest night.
I sighed a sigh, but spoke I not, for only I would hear,
and blame my words for being said
and drowning in the drear.



Time continued, but now I knew
those thoughts I could not shake.
I yearned for more and could not make sense
of the confusion the little light had brought.
My gaze turned down and all around
to fields of the simple daisies,
and skies like patches of the sweetest clover
shuffled across my skin.
And I started to wander on rainy days
And laugh for the sake of laughter.
I'd think and ponder of places yonder
and smile at the quirks of folk.

Interludes:

Of Georgie St. Joseph
and the
Cow that Jumped over the Moon

Georgie St. Joseph was on a flight sailing on wedding bells
with bow in hand and cello at stand
plucking notes where the cherubs dwell.
When a strange commotion aroused him a notion
of what love he thought he would need
seemed all the less when found in a dress
when the floor swung from under his feet.
Down went his cello, picnic and hat
and down went his lovely tune,
down with the drops and flakes of old
as the cow jumped over the moon.



But Georgie St. Joseph found himself sound,
cello standing tall
he scratched his head over the aerial falls
and wondered at it all.
But nonetheless he escaped the dress
and he did it none too soon
and thanked it all, except for the fall
to the cow that jumped over the moon.

The Hermit Amid the Pond

The old hermit amid the pond never was a lot of things.
He never was able to carry a tune,
although he loved to sing.
He was never a potter or baker or smith,
he was never one for crafts,
He was never too much of a witty old fool,
but he was never really daft.
He was never a grade-A golden boy,
never in the scene,
for sure the old fool was never one
to be fond of dental hygiene.



But although his absence in all that mess
made him seem alone,
his eyes turned up to the sky above
to the lights that always shone.
They always watched and winked to show
they listened to his plight
and he'd blow a kiss and smile back
and beam beneath their light.
And all the things he never was
wouldn't add to a nickel more
when within the scope that housed his eye
held sight to end his bore.
As the moon peered back at the ever hospitable
hermit amid the pond
the old man drew breath and blew the kiss
that fluttered from his palm.

The Song of Cricket

The dullest tones that soothe the bones
are found in the song of Cricket
The sharpest verse will dull the curse
that lies in the changing course.
The mandolin strings that clutter in ticks
are found in the song of Cricket
and accent the spackles and ringing tin
that lies in the changing course.
The fiddle strings pour like heated honey
found in the song of Cricket
But the female hand makes whimsy stand
and beauty of the sound.
The hoarser notes make use of pain
as found in the song of Cricket
for the sweeter tune is a melody
that remedies the courses of change.
Ode is all, both mess and joy
to the song of Cricket
for 'tis a tune which will reach the moon
and ease the course of change.
And a music box may yet unlock
the sweetest song of Cricket
and spill anew the softest hue
to welcome the course of change.

The Little Star: Part II

Again one night my weary head
began swimming to places away
when the familiar glitter raised my lids
in dizzy dances across my peripherals.
I did not cry out, but took chance with Chance
and would accept the Decisions made
for Coincidence is the mistress of the ever patient
and all-knowing Fate.
I drifted asleep, slowly to dream,
as the light fluttered about.
I was unaware of serendipity that would soon rain down
and bathe me in the new.

"Now, if I may intercede,
briefly, but for a moment,
I must make note of an oddity I have encountered.
My sleeping mind I recall not,
for my dreams are of the free-spirited kind.
They drift away into the horizon, careless and thoughtless,
unaware of the hurt they leave.
O to dream of a want,
impossible but in a dream.
To dream is to want,
when the real is not as it seems.
I dream of things I cannot hold;
how I dream to dream a dream
of waking from this story told.
I want to fly beyond the sky
and hold the stars above.
I want to fray the abysmal seams
and define my abstract love.
I want to rest and slip away
beneath the currents of the wind
I want to sleep forever now,
how I want everything.
But my dream is a dream, an abstract notion
forever beyond my grasp.
But to deny the effort of this persistent fool
is a dream I shall never have."

What dream I dreamt on that strangest of nights
I can remember not,
But I jolted awake in a ring of smoke,
and discovered a painful dot.
But within the crater that bore itself new
glowed the strangest ember
dim and quiet, but filled with warmth
on the first night of December.





Upon the gathering of my shattered thoughts
I peered upon my bruise
and gazing back with a curious look
were eyes of stormy blue.
I knew at once the eyes I met
belonged to the little light
and now lying upon my breast,
a star torn from the night.

"Curious creature," I thought to myself,
"As gentle as a flower,
She is just a little star, but hit like a meteor shower."
"Hullo." I said in my gentlest tone,
tinted with pleasant surprise.
"Hullo." She said with a burst of smile
as her eyes were locked with mine.
She shook her head and looked about
with a baffled sort of shrug.
I stared at her in a baffled way
with the sleep of chilly drug.
Her eyes returned to mine as she gave a listless sigh.
A smirk on her lips found itself restless
and slowly crawled to mine.
"Funny thing running into you here,"
She said with contagious cheer,
and I knew at once we had seen from afar
each other all too clear.


"Since you have arrived, stay awhile and chat;
We have all eternity before the day is back."
"You lie," she said with a playful grin
and her eyes shown bright and clear,
"I can stay for but a day, no longer though, I fear."
"That will do," I said to her,
"quite nicely for the time;
this world is odd and always surprises
with the surprises that we find."


We talked all night through the diamond fields
as ebony turned to gold.
And a million nocturnal eyes were closed
as the dawn had grown more bold



Stillness in aerial deep; our voices spread across
and our laughter and warmth radiated about
and melted the clinging frost.
The day flew by in lackadaisical swirls
as we were obliviously tied,
but the time was drawing, and we both knew,
too soon to say goodbye.



"What do you fear, my dearest dear?"
She asked me at the end.
I shrugged it off and answered with circles
but knew I could not pretend.
"I fear existence," she said to me,
"and the watery depths,
but rain and puddles are a lovely thing,
making all else fresh.
What's perfectly lovely, my dearest dear?
What makes you glow as you do?
What gives you breath and existence at all?
What makes you through and through?"


"The beauty that lies between the gaps,"
I said to the little star,
"is a beauty that slips between the cracks,
the beauty that we are.
But you, my dear, are perfectly lovely,
perfectly, painfully dear;
all I mind is losing you, that