The Last of the Star Makers

Were you alive when they were around?
They would romp in the sky,
And play with the clouds,
But the thing they enjoyed doing the most,
Was creating the stars of the heavens of course.

An arc of a limb,
And stars would appear,
Filling the skies with their glory,
However one day,
The humans found out,
And here begins our story.

The humans declared, ‘We’ll hunt them dead,
Their skins a good penny will make,
Leave none alive,
Take all of them down,
And the rest,
Burn at a stake.’

So the humans set off,
For the skies and the stars,
A journey,
A great undertaking,
Meanwhile in the heavens,
So far above,
The Makers went on with their making.

The road was long,
But the humans kept on,
Instilled in their minds shouts of bliss,
When others found out,
The great deed they had done,
‘No one the Star Makers would miss.’

Finally they reached,
The Land of the Makers,
Who welcomed them in,
The nasty ole fakers,
They drank the food,
And ate the drink,
Then the Makers realized,
Their mistake.

Full of blood lust,
A man struck one down,
And other men,
Leapt up in fury,
The Makers are gentle,
Not raised for battle,
And could not respond to the angry.

One-by-one the Star Makers fell,
It was quite the bloody scene,
The young, the old, even the kids,
And anyone in between.

The brutal men,
Struck them down that day,
The Makers could not defend,
None of them,
Survived the attack,
But the story doesn’t end.

Because there is one left,
So far above,
See her in all her esteem,
For she is playing,
Among planets and stars,
A female, a mother, a queen.

Though, not quite a mother yet,
For at the moment she’s expecting,
And she knows not of the fight going on,
And her people that she is neglecting.

Once she stops,
In the midst of her dance,
To glance at her people below,
She turns a hand,
To wave at them,
And give them all a show.

But when she looks down,
She sees not a one,
Ready to look at her making,
And when the stars begin to cry ,
She knows that her people aren’t faking.

The female sees the end of the fight,
She watches the ugly men leaving,
However the bodies,
They left behind,
The value they are not believing.

With a shriek of despair,
She flings herself down,
To rest at the feet of her kind,
And when she lands,
She finds what’s been done,
All out of sight,
Out of mind.


All her people are dead,
She’s the last of her kindred,
Her being weeps with sorrow,
The soil of her land,
Is now tainted with red,
And she wails until the ‘morrow.

Her tears finally dry up,
Her thoughts, not of revenge,
But of loneliness and pain,
She stands to her feet,
And then decides,
That she’ll begin again.

Another great horror,
Lays ‘round her feet,
‘Midst the mangled bodies of dead,
For strange upon strange,
For wondering too,
The stars are falling ‘round stead.

They look rather pitiful,
Up so close,
Their lights are weak and winking,
Because in their mourning,
They want to be near,
The female who was weeping.

Silently she collects,
The crying stars,
And holds them close to her chest,
She takes off for the outer realm,
While gathering the rest.

She is the last,
The lone Star Maker,
She travels on holy ground,
Lightly treading among the stars,
And often looking down.

Is anyone watching?
Does anyone care?
She is the maker of stars,
The Last of Star Makers.

-wr1wra