Contemplating counting the stars no matter how long it takes.
Arms stretched out my fingers outline their curves and edges.
Even so afar, they can't help but reach for them. Pocket the ghost of their presence as a trophy.
Everyone chases the moon, and trample over the stars as they chase it.
They forget that you can pocket the stars and keep them as a merit for your hard work.
The stars are what you make them out to be.
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Comments1
that's that beauty
in our diversity
some
seek, ambitions rewards
reach out their thumb
wink
and blot out the Moon.. or Sun
of reality
while, others
open their arms wide
and try to hug the Universe
accepting it, as it is
in its Entirety
of flawed, Beauty...!
thank you for sharing, dear poet
loved your imagery
and your poem's soothing message
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