The Eye of the World

I saw him tonight
the eye of the world,

he was poised so perfectly
a crescent of beauty

he looked like a white flame
nestled on a slow burn,

with a haze surrounding him
making his arch of sharpness
seem all the more defined.

I’d love to pluck him from the sky
and wear him as my only diamond

polished, with a hint of rough,
yet somehow he seems
perfection itself.

I love how this always happens
my mind wandering and
poetry forming. . .

for as long as I live
I hope the night
will always be an open book

with the moon its spine
and the stars all the words in between,

with the sky my pot of ink
waiting for the touch of my hand,

for inspiration to remain as endless
as the darkness before me,

for as long as I live
for as long as I breathe

may life always be my dream. . .

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