Orion’s Belt shone over your
rooftop.
You thinking its symmetry
granted you three wishes,
like a genie,
put your finger on a star, the
one towards your left, press, release, to activate its power.
Like three magi, lighting
your way.
Coming to bear their gifts.
Bestowing their knowledge of
the skies.
Yet you forget that the stars
come out every night.
Like the screen on your
window (open it up for fresh air),
they are dusty and old and
ready to explode.
Little white polka dots
poking through.
You wished for immortality,
Making sure this time you
were smart.
You asked for eternal youth
as wish number two.
Yet still you felt yourself
decay,
insides eroding, wrinkles performing,
collagen, elastin - spoiling.
And you knew your wishes did
not come true.
The power to loosen his belt
did not belong to you.
The laws of heaven were not
yours to behold, dear mortal.
Throwing withered hands up to
heaven,
you yelled to be restored, to
be saved.
O God, do not leave your
people abandoned.
Orion’s Belt did not shine
over your rooftop.
It was June, and you had one wish
left.
When winter came you
struggled to rise from your bed.
Orion’s Belt greeted you, but
you cursed its name.
One wish you made - the wish
to die.
No longer looking to the sky
for confirmation.
The ground was where the
answers lay.
The gateway to immortality
was under your feet, plush
and soft.
Memory foam adjusting to your
shape -
an accommodating place to
die.
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