star child
there is something cold and blank behind her smile
a falsity sincere, as if she's trying to drink in the
opposite of her apparent tears; a star that one day
fell from the inky indigo black of night to fall upon
the earth, and start a new life it must have been
a start to break upon the glass of a new reality while
hers had been smashed — river stones mark her
entry way into the field, crooked and disoriented as
the teeth in the mouth of the man that tried to smile
at her she could not bring herself to do anything more
than the pained grimace meant to be a smile; hearts are
delicate and fragile things breaking easier than the
sinew of formerly broken bones, and all she could think
of were her father stars and their heavenly thrones —
knowing not the reason why she was thrust upon the earth
she resents everything from the birds to the bees,
but most of all she resents her very birth into human kind
for she remembers the tears of stars not the tears of men.
This is an interesting poem for its implied rage and resentment. Is the star child a metaphor for the poet's alienation in a twisted world, poets being both divine and human? Perhaps each person senses this alienation as they consider themselves victims and blindly forget their own meanness? Perhaps what makes the poet unique is devotion to an important but forgotten craft that is essential to humane spirit but is ignored in a competitive crass materialism. We poets see through bullshit but allow ourselves to succumb to it because we love, yet resent, the world.
ReplyDeleteThis is an interesting poem for its implied rage and resentment. Is the star child a metaphor for the poet's alienation in a twisted world, poets being both divine and human? Perhaps each person senses this alienation as they consider themselves victims and blindly forget their own meanness? Perhaps what makes the poet unique is devotion to an important but forgotten craft that is essential to humane spirit but is ignored in a competitive crass materialism. We poets see through bullshit but allow ourselves to succumb to it because we love, yet resent, the world.
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