Star Songs


star songs

If you sit still and listen to silence long enough
You can hear the steady buzz of the world.
Silence is never truly silent.
Inside its self-preserved dome of peace
Silence hums a cyclical song –
Melodic histories.
It woos us into subconscious understanding
With its complex lullaby.
It tells us time and time again
In different ways
How our history is playing out before us;
How our present is just the past verse sung
To an alternate beat
Or with a new instrument.
The world is in a constant state of rotation.
With each turn on our axis
We create a fresh verse
But the sad reality of this lullaby
Is that it is indeed cyclical.
We are doomed to revert back to a state of chorus
Only to rise into a verse
With altered undulation.
We are captured by a dance
Where our steps are determined by the music
That history decides to play.
Lying on the slope of a hill near the crest
When the night sky is clear of clouds
And the moon decides to hide,
You will see a vast expanse of stars.
It is breathtaking.
It is in that moment,
As grass tickles your ears and wind whispers to you,
Do you come to a realization that our world
Is either very small or large.
You discover a sense of where we are in the universe.
Combine this illumination
With Silence.
All at once you are overcome with your realities
Philosophies and dreams
And then
When it feels like the sensation is overwhelming
You suddenly find yourself at peace –
You are in the front row of an orchestra.
A connection is made and all the questions
You have ever felt inside
About your existence bubble outward.
Ancients before you described the stars as history
Transcribed by the gods
And as you stare into them
Past them
You notice that the stars form the notes on a musical staff.
Each is a point in your history –
The world’s history –
Strung together by nature to form the quivering hum you now feel.
I think
It is our nature in times of self-revelation that we analyze;
We delve into the deeper aspects of our curiosity.
One question is bouncing around in your head
More than others, however.
Where are we now?
You wrap your arms under your head and think.
You remember the history taught to you in middle school
And you recall current events.
Are we dancing to the beat of a happy verse?
Something tumultuous
Relaying a sense of change?
Or steady and familiar like the chorus?
How closely does this turn of the axis resemble the past?
How radically unique?
Which notes are my OWN?
It would appear
If we are destined to dance
That our futures are laid out before us without the hope
For significant change.
We will ebb and flow consistently.
But, why?
Our ancestors believed that there was the ability in us –
A gift of sorts which nature grants
That beckons us to change the tune.
If we lie complacent
Satisfied to slumber as the lullaby resonates
Merely in the background of existence
Then we will have no significance to the song.
We will dance as we were meant to dance
Not jive or do the robot or weep interpretively.
And although with each generation
The past is a looming presence
Waiting to be played again
The same way,
We must accept the gift nature has given us;
Be determined
To alter the verse.
Play the notes in the direction
We want our history to unfold.
Be the next whole note to appear on the staff.
Inspire jazz.
Inspire change.
Inspire the perfect song that when the time comes
For it to repeat itself
We will be satisfied to slumber.

About The Girl Who...

...wore blue shoes. Poet, painter, blogger, daughter of the King: I express myself through art in literature and acrylic and clacking of keyboard keys because I have been given a passion for each like a knawing in my breast. I contemplate the world and everything therein through a lense of Christian theistic philosophy and wish to share with you the resulting musings which I mutter to myself.

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