moved: Marsport and 'SPACE: 1889 !'

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The Legend of Stardust and the Desert

Tuesday July 18, 2017

( I wrote this years ago, and is therefore copyright by me.)

To Dream, Dream…

Sitting on the desert floor,
is a woman,
whom is not named,
Lenore.

Nor Becky, nor Sue,
nay, nor Lillith,
Or any of the other many names,
a woman might have,
no,
not even one from centuries past.

Someone somewhen,
had asked her what her name was,
and she had smiled,
and taking up a handful of dust,
and letting it run thru her fingers,
and she said, “This planet,
and all you see,
is made from the dust of exploding stars,
from millenia ago.”

For all Time after,
she was called Stardust.

She would answer to it,
but said from time to time,
it was not her name.

When she was sad,
and sometimes when she was happy,
she would be Not Here,
but There,
and where There was,
was a desert.

Sometimes she would fiddle,
and the sand would swirl into a small grainy sphere,
and sometimes it would form a vague-face,
and you could almost see it ‘mouth’ the notes,
from that thing,
she called a fiddle.

Her clothes varied,
whatever local custom declared,
but just enough different,
no one would mistake her for someone else.

A few times,
there were those,
who declared her clothes to be unacceptable,
but she would just smile,
and answer, “I am called Stardust.’

Sometimes that would save her,
sometimes not.

She always vanished,
before they did her lasting harm.

Woe to the torturer,
or executioner,
who lost her,
and could not account for her whereabouts,
especially in those kingdoms,
leadersquads,
and so forth,
that felt they Ruled the Universe,
or mistakenly,
like Ozimandious,
claimed they and they alone,
ruled a part of it.

Some claim to have seen Her,
as a statue,
near that Ozimandious claim,
taller even,
than anything he had built,
but it was only seen,
by those drunk on dandelion wine,
in the desert heat.

So how could you believe such tales ?

What was she doing in the desert ?
besides fiddling that fiddle ?

Well, I’ll tell you.

She Sang.

Not sang,
with a small ‘s’.

but she Sang.

She sang of Stars,
beyond the sky,
stars beyond the galactic rim,
stars in globular clusters,
stars hidden by interstellar gas and dust.
stars being born amongst infalling stellar dust and gas.

Of civilizations,
vanished,
hither and yon,
some of humans,
some of robots,
some of other various beings.

Of starships,
with their frozen people aboard,
and those other ships,
with crews who were lost,
between galaxies.

Of exploding suns,
shoving the gases and dust aside,
and small proto-stars,
not getting the fuel they need,
to burst forth,
into life,
those saddened her,
most of all.

She had no telescope,
but she knew they were There.

Yes, sometimes,
when she was Not Here,
she was There,
in the deserts,
of another planet,
that is how she knew of them.

Please,
do not think she lived centuries long,
nor outlived those who didn’t like Her.

She did none of those things.

For some years and decades,
she was tall,
some she was short,
others frail or robust.

For while she appeared to be a woman,
of middle years,
She was Life,
for that was her True Name.

And so she lived,
in a fashion,
throughout the Universe.

But, in this instance,
she was an Island,
called Life.

Spanning,
sort of,
the millenia,
as all was swept away,
except her,
by time, itself.

But she knew,
her Presence was felt,
and was the cause,
of some of the beings,
becoming civilized,
for a while,
for a while.

Until their star burned out,
or swelled into Red Giant Phase.

But that didn’t matter,
at least,
she tried to think it didn’t,
that some of those beings,
lasted for what seemed,
only the blink of an eye.

Others blossomed,
and grew,
and spread across their galactic home,
and did not make the journey,
across the gap between Island Universes,
some tried,
and failed,
and others tried, made it, and failed,
but a few,
strove,
and made it, and survived.

For she was an Island,
called Life.

BlueJoe

My Traveller Universe, poems

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