Remedy for the Stars
by Pride Ed
“They’ve woven veils out of my halo again!”
the moon bellowed through its own smoke.
For a long time, there it sat with a grimace…
Another nightfall wasted.
There was a sort of wheezing…
A toothy whistle, even.
Sardonicism of an angry crescent, it seemed.
And the trees outside were clearly snickering.
Bitching about something,
I lazily recalled as I slept;
another nightly poem; another silly cosmic backdrop
for someone’s soul.
“Brilliance in passing!” the moon
once said to itself, or rather of itself, I suppose.
No remedy for the stars tonight…
so I decided to write about it all over again.