The Stars Are Our Understudies

The sunset was our biggest and best mistake
One glorious disaster
Blooming into the light it had not, was not, able to create
The holy mirror hanging in the dreary day
Oh saintly reflection of the thousands of faces multiplying into the myriad of stars
That would politely bow with a tip of their hats as they introduced themselves
"We are your replacements
We are the muse of the whole world
We are the limit
You reach out, strain, groan, beg, bite, reel, wax, wane, copulate
Groan again, battle, Rattle, hum, and will never touch us
We are not there
You have been gnashing your teeth, reaching for yourselves
You see me and my brethren and see infinity
Two eyes surrounded by frames moving endlessly in a telltale figure eight
The smoke ceasing to settle
It will straighten, and the bars will clear up and clear out
Stumbling skeptics, lunatics, and priests alike
We all falter, cheekbones greeting the gravel as they are ground
Down, down, down
You need answers
Your vision is finite yet searching for magic
Your vision is cemented in scope but longs for silver bells complimenting hipster haired Angels
Shouting oracles of fate, love, and faith to the heavens that are bursting out of Our feet
Fingers, hair, and facial cracks
Stretching the physical until it tears, or rather unravels
Like balls of blue and yellow yarn
Tumbling in slow motion down the stairs as
We stare from out the back of your heads
Your skulls are fixed
Downward facing creatures forced to look upwards at the miracles of the sky that
We had Created by accident"
What brilliance