“My sun, my moon, my stars”

“My sun, my moon, my stars”
I called you that
not because I wanted
to unduly romanticize you
but, rather, because
that is what you are.

My sun,
sometimes scathing
and scorching
in the harshest glare,
other times
warming, comforting
and melting the coldest ice;
always the source
of all life in my world.

My moon
standing in the reflected
light, I could find meaning,
though ever waxing
and waning,
always the brightest
in the night.

The stars,
streaking across my sky
burning out towards
other horizons
yet always constant
as my beacon
to bring me home.

No mere mortal
could ever pretend
or hope
to bridle
the tempest and celestial
omnipotence
comprising the bodies
we all look to in the sky,
and I am nothing
if not mortal.

Never did I dream
that I would feel such warmth,
bask in such a glow
through the night,
or feel stardust
on my fingertips.

Yet, there I was
before being cast out
in favor of new worshippers
of your heavens.

“My sun, my moon, my stars.”

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