Meathead Monologue

sōl

she is finally dying.
her light is cascading down upon us, but weaker each day.
her warmth grows just a bit colder as another night passes.
the moon is noticing, and worry fills her crater filled surface to the brim, however,
the moon cannot do a single thing to stop death.
because death comes for us all,
even the sun.
and even the moon.
in this case, death is coming for the sun,
he's on the path right now, taking loud and heavy steps on the clouds and stars that lead to the burning ball of light.
his scythe gleams in her beauty,
almost gently teasing her.
she withers at each cold glance he gives.
the sun is finally dying, she is finally burning out.
and the moon can only watch in absolute horror as the love of her life, her companion through time
explodes in a baby blue ball of fire and combusts into a billion young stars.
but even in the sun's death, the moon has sweet closure, knowing that the blue stars born of the sun
will take out every planet in her vicinity.
even the moon.

r.k.