Sun Moon and Stars all align like a cage,
And constalations are bars.
Imaginary imagery holding me down
Drown in the black cloak of night that once hid my face,
And the inconstant ingrateful moon laughs in spite.
Then it cries aloud as it's face shifts in the rifts of time,
But what is time or place when you are perpetually Still,
Still ill with thoughts of health and glory
What could be in those starry eyed skies?
Can Dream clouds peirce golden veils of Stars?
Or will they too fade into scars and memories,
With their loss maybe you'll see Stars,
When you rub your eyes
And try to dream of a darker sky without bars.
As eyes close darkness ensues
To sleep, yes, a chance of dream.
oh the good news