The beautiful goddess of love And the master of ocean tides Meet in an early summer sky. Everything blurs. It's so hard to see. Clearly. Gravity pulls. A connection builds.
The crescent moon, waxing, master of ocean tides, a fingernail in the sky. Like an eye, open wide, gazing at distant Venus, the silver shimmering goddess of love.
Distant orbits of celestial bodies read for meaning and metaphor and signs of devine destiny to explain our lives.
Why didn't we follow the signs? Let the stars and constellations guide our lives. It must mean something that I'm a Gemini.
Sad, stupid moon. We are both but stones, floating in fixed orbits, reflecting light from the sun. It's Her light that makes us stars. Look to Her and find your way. Look away. Let Venus be the goddess of love. In somebody else's sky.
Sun and stars set. They'll come around again. We can't change our orbits, but we can change our selves. Be more than a stone reflecting light, inspire it in others and do what's right.
Venus, you're the goddess of love, and what a curse that must be. Love is beautiful misery, exciting hope, hearts and desire, then bittersweet pain, too, suffering and loss. Doubt and resignation as much as devotion and joy. You, goddess of this, know this. Understand this deeply. Others must learn.
The barely enlightened crescent moon sets. Venus, wonderous beauty, awaits the next.