written in the stars
by Moerae spinning
we thread their needles
kismet in cross stitch
drawn out with fingertips
whispered and woven
embroidered in colors
chosen for us
by capricious old cacklers
to decorate a cosmic wall
hope like a blanket
hope like a kiss
tapestry of life hanging
lit by exploding suns
crackles and flames
tendrils of fire
like wisps escaping
from a tightly wound skein
a cinder flying
a wind divine
and we incinerate
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