“Save the Twilight”
Once, save the twilight.
Twice, kill the moon light.
There is no thrice.
You don’t have might to move the stars
They will tell you.
And you don’t.
You can bend them to your will.
You, crafter of stars
Are born to do nothing else.
Gaze out there. See that?
That ocean of possibility,
It is your plaything. That night?
Is it darkness you desire?
Yours to experiment, craft, embolden.
See that? That comet there? Yours as well.
What do you want to do with it?
Not often I get to tutor a nascent god.
The stars are glitter thrown in the air
By your forebears, given to us for joy
And to you for lordship; they are yours to command.
What would you command of them, my liege?
Destructive Anachronism 