Are these moments of flight,
And on the edge of the wings,
Are the stars of the night.
But absent of darkness,
So they are flown to the sun,
To help greet the day.
Preposterous isn't it,
How the stars that wander,
Would quickly leave darkness,
And towards the light they saunder?
It is all what you give yourself to,
In this Grand Scheme of things,
For it determines where you'll end up,
After your last death toll rings.
~Thoughts of a Dreamer~
© Mary Spotted Eagle Woman Roberts