There it sat, an arachnid perched upon the Venus’s maw,
darkly brown, eight-legged and hailing from night’s Plutonian shore.

Six beady black eyes twitching and glistening with a paltry dream,
full of mischief and cunning, did this arachnid seem.

Ever so close to death did it like to dance, sitting above the Venus in a trance,
sitting with all its cleverness and snark, this devilish little shark.

The Venus released a pheromone, a fragrance that chilled the bone,
waiting to catch this arachnid liar, waiting for it to fall into its fryer.

The arachnid, too quick to be caught, ran across Venus like good sport;
Venus was too slow, too drowsy to play, but fought throughout this day.

Now the night has come in tempest, the arachnid grows restless,
the time to go has come and will not return with the dawning sun.

the devil is ringing

And the Venus is singing, the arachnid has slipped, stupidly, in a restless fit;
the Venus’ trap was sprung,

Thus the arachnid dances no longer, now its end Is no longer,
the hunger for Venus no longer,
the fun over, the friendship over, the end.

Beware the ticking clock and hours it brings,
It takes away the day, it haunts our dreams.

Of a hickory smell, of a dickory chime,
the clock strikes twelve, the dream sublime.

Onward marches its hands around its face,
One two they go a steady pace.

Its time, sleep time, the hours ‘ave gone,
do not turn to past times ahead.

In the heart of our sun works a towering god to keep the fire brightly burning in the cold dark of space. She is a mythic figure, grandiose in her stature, powerful in her might, graceful in her poise, draped in liquid stone and crowned in a halo of time itself. Surrounding her is the great machine, which she works over to make sure our guiding star, our soul, never goes out. She keeps us warm, she keeps us fed, she keeps our seasons turning and our world alive for our stories to be read. For at the edges of the solar system, beyond the magnetic shield, are the langoliers, those that eat that which has passed and that which will come to be. They are after our history and will do anything to break in and devour our experiences away. But the towering god and her machine fuel the power keeping these celestial beasts at bay. It is a cosmic power that breathes life into existence, so we can breathe power into our faith that the sun will never go out, so help us Goddess.

My bubbly and bright little star, shining in spirit and song,

Day or night to no avail, an epic beyond epics,

All mine to feel and gaze upon like an astronomer of the heart.