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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2010170-Galatia-Gratification
by Fyn
Rated: E · Poetry · Writing · #2010170
Sipping the nectar of the stars- A Sestina

Galatia Gratification

Like an upturned bowl of glitter, the sky spread
overhead. Dearth of ambient light let constellations delight
and yet be patterned through, stitched by stars on blue
into heavenly quilt. Not without some guilt, I watched the Milky Way
hold sway in full extent. Blanket wrapped, I sat content
watching the dance of firmament. Orion's rising

near dawn, surprising me that I had spent in awed delight
an entire night washed in stardust; silver, blue.
Tis true, I've never felt so insignificant, yet in a way
as darkness paled to fill with day, one filled with content,
schedule filled, every moment, I felt energy rising,
as if my psyche were re-sizing: no temptation to crawl beneath my spread,

curl up in bed. Instead, now with coffee steaming, I still sat as sky turned blue
to watch mists streaming off the lake, watched with a smile the way
the moon caught colors of day, flung them, added content,
as like candles snuffed, stars went out. Vapor trails stung red, pale sun rising.
I'm left surmising on eons light traveled that I might watch the dance spread
before me all night. Each cell within reverberated in sheer delight.

Dew coats, making blanket damp. I need be on my way
home, leaving camp and returning to the content
of my day, packing stardust and tent together. I hear sounds of voices rising
yet here I sit, fantasizing, If I could but spread
silvered wings, rather than sit; go where stars sing in delight,
chart a course through the night into vast reaches of interstellar blue,

I could look back, see true perspective: what truly will make me content?
Find some off-planet directive, new set of rules with galaxies rising
or like the gannet, plunge back to earth, burning wings spread,
turning red as ideas burn with new found intensity? To realize, in delight
that I write what I want to be to music of divine nebulae. Never blue,
not I, I remind myself, for last night I touched the stars in a way

I never had, in ways sublime. Now, more than a daily rising,
each day I stretch, refine my view of what is spread
before me, sketch with pen with stellar ink, seek out delight
in astral star moments, write poetry in deep space blue,
seek proponents to find the answers, each bit of dust to light my way.
In crimson stars, find ruby slippers: I found the way to be content.

Star sipper, I spread wings; in parsecs and light years wend my way
past new moons rising to start each day in serene orbit of delight:
content to trust in me to find what I need and stay true blue.

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