by J.V.
These lights reaching your eyes
Staring longingly into the black;
These orbs of energy,
Which offer something besides
The chilling blanket of night,
These stars,
Are lies.
These radiant suns tell tales
Of the long deceased,
Spin yarns
Into sweaters
Which have long since frayed.
These candles in the dark,
These bulbs on the tree,
These streetlights on the long dark road,
Should be as comforting to you
As a photograph of oxygen
To a drowning man.
These pictures of stars
Put in the photo album of the sky,
Spin yarns into sweaters
Being worn by individuals
Who combusted into balls of flames,
Before the birth of Christ.
But we still smile, and feel as if,
The memory in that photograph
The fire in that star,
Is still happening.
As we must.
As a photograph of oxygen to a drowning man. quote from Alan Moore’s Watchmen
These lights reaching your eyes
Staring longingly into the black;
These orbs of energy,
Which offer something besides
The chilling blanket of night,
These stars,
Are lies.
These radiant suns tell tales
Of the long deceased,
Spin yarns
Into sweaters
Which have long since frayed.
These candles in the dark,
These bulbs on the tree,
These streetlights on the long dark road,
Should be as comforting to you
As a photograph of oxygen
To a drowning man.
These pictures of stars
Put in the photo album of the sky,
Spin yarns into sweaters
Being worn by individuals
Who combusted into balls of flames,
Before the birth of Christ.
But we still smile, and feel as if,
The memory in that photograph
The fire in that star,
Is still happening.
As we must.
As a photograph of oxygen to a drowning man. quote from Alan Moore’s Watchmen