Child of the Stars

Anaya Vora
At the beginning of the first hour,
Did the shadow of the moon prophesy,
The coming of a child of the stars,
Born of the silver wishes that hang from Orion's belt.


By the dense flames of the faltering fire,
 As lullabies turn to wretched choirs,  
I lie under the star-knit blue quilt,  
Consumed by my kismet.  

 Dreams of Andromeda beckon to me,  
For we are the condemned maidens,  
Caressed by perilous swells and tenderairs,  
Soothed by the tunes of the harpe.   

Bathed in the burden of Charon’s obol,  
An angel of the unholiest kind,  
I am but the boatman among the stars,  
Plagued by the groaning of carrion men.
   
In the fluorescent kingdom of Diana,  
Where northern lights guide pariahs,  
Pray I to the Goddess divine,  
She who offers me asylum.   

There do I long to wrap my fragilemortality in her moonlight,  
Eluding the eye of the tempest,  
Receding into dream-like whispers,  
Of supernovas and nebulas.  

 But hark as they come,  
The treacherous Moirai,  
Revelling in their deranged creations,  
Of outlines stitched from alluring illusions.   

Unravel then,  
The tragedy of my youth,  
Before I to return to the night sky,  
For it is there that I begin.   

Child of the Stars

Anaya Vora
At the beginning of the first hour,
Did the shadow of the moon prophesy,
The coming of a child of the stars,
Born of the silver wishes that hang from Orion's belt.


By the dense flames of the faltering fire,
 As lullabies turn to wretched choirs,  
I lie under the star-knit blue quilt,  
Consumed by my kismet.  

 Dreams of Andromeda beckon to me,  
For we are the condemned maidens,  
Caressed by perilous swells and tenderairs,  
Soothed by the tunes of the harpe.   

Bathed in the burden of Charon’s obol,  
An angel of the unholiest kind,  
I am but the boatman among the stars,  
Plagued by the groaning of carrion men.
   
In the fluorescent kingdom of Diana,  
Where northern lights guide pariahs,  
Pray I to the Goddess divine,  
She who offers me asylum.   

There do I long to wrap my fragilemortality in her moonlight,  
Eluding the eye of the tempest,  
Receding into dream-like whispers,  
Of supernovas and nebulas.  

 But hark as they come,  
The treacherous Moirai,  
Revelling in their deranged creations,  
Of outlines stitched from alluring illusions.   

Unravel then,  
The tragedy of my youth,  
Before I to return to the night sky,  
For it is there that I begin.