it is rare i've felt like i owed an explanation
Clarity and finality crackled in my grip,
as I wondered, ever younger, how I could forget.
Plans are those things for which we are betwixt,
hasting, never wasting, but rarely touching lips.
It was then I thought with mastery naught,
what else plagues those craters in which I fought?
Specks became anthills became plains became memories,
cursing and spitting and doubting all the way.
And yet, despite myself, some gladness remained.
Launching yet again, I gloried at the vastness of space.
But there are asteroids in space, my love, as well as on this earth.
And there is nothing so convincing as the unsightly to make you question your worth.
Ancient radioactivity causing the pits and chasms to stand out so bright,
fueled by the longings for a sparkle on lonely dark nights.
Too broken, too many holes, too many shining lights.
All that glitters is not gold, and sometimes gold darkens itself out of spite.
It's a simple matter of statistics, you see,
I bade in woe to the elation chasing me.