Aerial Man on his nightly mission,
flying up to the barren skies
with his fiery torches in his hands,
as he has done since time
was yet in the seed of the blessed,
commissioned by his master
to fire up the stars at dusk,
rises up to the penumbra,
the ceiling as it begins to fade,
the day into early night,
as the eyelids of the earth
start feeling the weight of the day
and the Nightingales
prepare their nightly songs,
 
he ignites the stars
and starts up their glowing
as lovers swoon and astrologers delight,
as the mantle of the night
shows off his handiwork,
his artistic profession,
his love of proportional spacing,
his portrayals in the constellation,
and his know-how to make them shine.
 
He sits upon the highest seat
waiting for Mother Earth to find the sun
and draw open the dark canopies,
waiting to extinguish
the glow of the stars,
the blaze that burned in the sky,
the termination of the beautiful night
that showed off the beauty of his works,
as he descends back to earth
with his torches unlit,
waiting for the eve of the next day
to ignite his torches
and rise again into the barren skies.

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Robert L. Martin
12 months

Thank you very much, Joanne. Thank you so much for reading my poem.

J Ann Crowder
12 months

I love watching the night sky. Love this imagery! Thank you!

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