The Voice

Stardust, Caught

Photo by Kunj Parekh on Unsplash

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If you’d like, play this poem turned into a song by AI (Suno):

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The Great White North held him
close by its side,
Starved for a mother, 
the church was his bride

Returned home, parked.
Nearly inside.
Through thin-paned glass, 
cracked right above.

Came the voice, 
the love.
 
Dewdrops on its lilt—
a wanting
that left him wanting

Crushed petals
Fallen,
From she who was searching—

and restless. 
But why?


He heard:
       Rolling green hills
       In a fruitful, foreign land
       Where no foot can step


He saw:
       Blossoms in winter
       Barely holding onto
       Inner warmth


He learned:
       Nothing—

Beauty, lived
Abandoned thought

Eternity glimpsed—
    Remembered not;

Afterimage embossed
On wet flint
Etchings left by rusted steel
 
Dare he mingle
His song with her own?

To match its tone…
        uneasy peace.

So he lassoed the stars,
Pulling back only dust.


That should suffice.
This poem was written with it.