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stardust

a poem.

By Skylar WhitneyPublished 7 months ago 1 min read
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she saw what he was made of

beyond flesh and bone —

surface layers

peeled back, raw

when all he saw in a

tainted reflection

all that which he wasn’t and

what he believed, he could never be;

she saw the same source energy that

drives bees to create honey;

she saw the same power that

personally pulls an

ever-glowing sun to its

rise and fall

each dawn and

each dusk;

it was him —

he was the sunset and

he was the sunrise

it encompassed him, all

and he was a budding flower that bloomed

when winter warmed into spring;

each note in his voice,

whenever he spoke

carried the same tune as

a hummingbird’s song —

she could listen to him sing

all day and

all night long

sweet, gentle melodies

written uniquely for her

individual ears

acutely tuned to only be

serenaded by his frequency;

whisper words of love —

ones that make

all darkness disappear

//

and he was darkness, too

only, in a way he

would never be able to see,

within a body he carried with

insecurity and shame —

but she saw none of that

for, he was the vastness of space

no, he was the universe

residing in his very cells —

stardust

a sprinkling of each

glowing orb on a

pitch black summer night;

when observing with her

watchful eyes

it was ever-so obvious

contained within him

a blaze with which

Helios, himself,

could never compete;

extra-ordinary, indeed

from some place

distant and

unreachable —

from the furthest away of

even the most

unknown galaxy

//

she only wished he could

see himself through this

shared lens

if only she could say:

when you think of beauty —

seasonal changes

petals of all arrays and

the sun shining on a

blistering summer’s day and

shades of leaves on

autumnal trees and

snowflakes resembling

powdered-sugar on a

cold winter’s eve and

an arched bow in a

cloud-clearing sky and

the way glowing rays fall

through an over-grown,

abundant forest of green and

the beauty you see

when you lovingly look at me;

of all this, you came to be

and even though you may not agree,

it is there,

and that is one thing of which,

to you,

I guarantee.

love poems
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About the Creator

Skylar Whitney

Introvert at heart. Lover of journaling, free-verse poetry, and poutine.

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