The child sought to climb the oldest oak
To scale the first sprout of the earth
Enwrap himself with its deep roots
Then when she fell from the sky
In a sphere of celestial making
He felt the pulse beat in his chest
But all is ever lost in the din of the world
Years of creating a cartograph of the stars
To construct a bridge from one realm to another
To find, once again, the pulse
The oscillation within the cosmic noise
She was it all, this star from the start of time
Who came down from much higher than the earth's oak
A sphere and a gift—the only thing he knew to be true
Lost forever in the din of a stunted world
M.M. — 10-Jul-2016
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