the devil got his way

when the morning star became truth north, a little nibble here and there to take a chunk more than the usual bits - then dressed as stars the eaters go on about their dance in the sky, falling towards earth with glee with the wind whistling past till the fire has left the pit and found green grass nostalgic. where still ponds still hold on to unwavering faith, beneath surfaces calm the undercurrents strain and push though not a wave breaks at the skin it must look like a clean slate easy to be a pond meditating when earth trembles. transforming to glaciers, frozen mountains shoot up towards the blinking sky whose mouth has just given a sign - one weary sun droops towards the end her orange red tinge diffuses across layers of sea and air, to fuse with breathing ice thirsty for fire. and fire blazed in deep water unseen, an orange hue like a crescent moon beneath troubled earth groaning with each latitude raised by the arms of alps given wings ... ... fly to true north yonder, towards fading clouds still trying to wave to diminishing earth no longer wanting to be a part of a giant morning star wrapped in bits, chunks, bites of you and me.