death, stars, War

My Least Favorite Star

In dreams, I fall through pleasing stars
there thrives no tragic gloom;
and then when daylight fades the night
blasts chilling cries of doom.

I do not pine for the garish bright sun
least favorite of all stars;
"now, the bullets can pierce the souls",
says the commander of wars.

Pull down the sun from up the skies
let us bury those that died;
a new day and dawn will do no good
it will rip hearts open wide.

Shrills and trills and wails and cries
are heard each passing day;
the death of a child crushes my soul
to which God should I pray?

Helpless, worthless, brown as I am
rights are reserved for a few;
DAMNED are you if you call for peace
they will, surely, come for you.

Pitiless, vengeful, the hearts of men
they quell 'nd cause bloodshed;
and tho' their fathers died en masse
they blow their neighbor's head.

Dear stars, I hate the merciless sun
it will often bruise and burn;
the war grounds reek of cruel hate
will humanity ever return?

I do not wish for a bloody red sun
but for your sparkling beams;
your kindly light puts all to sleep
brings peace to fitful dreams.

© Copyright: Leah Chrestien. December 2023.  The post ‘My Least Favorite Star’ first appeared on The Ecstatic Storyteller. The author reserves the right to the content. No reproduction of content in any form is permitted without the prior consent of the author.

21 thoughts on “My Least Favorite Star”

Leave a reply to Sanjay Ranout Cancel reply