Constellations

like scattered souls

blinking in the night,

as frozen as deer

(in headlights).

Who can see

what we've become?

Who can say

what we've measured?

Can we know

the distance of our moral

(disassociation)?

Can the shaken stars

see our patterns,

see our horrors,

make animals of

(us)?

When it all comes falling -

crumbling - slamming - down,

Who will watch us fall?

Will they see us sink

and make a wish?

Or will they see

(a waste)?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is an old one, but it came to mind today, as I was thinking of my earlier post about the Iraq War. I wrote this in Baghdad, in late 2007 or early 2008. 

Here's the original post. 

I'm sharing this for the imaginary garden.

And now I'm going to bed.

Nighty night.