Tied to a stake, the string stretched ponderously far
arcing into the blue and almost out of sight;
it cast no shadow and seemed as distant as a star
and slit the sky to a pointed diamond-shaped scar.
The minuscule and near invisible sprite
hung motionless and still ponderously far.
But a sinking unease threatened to mar
the luster of that afternoon and might
turn my mind to shadows–far from that distant star.
Blinking my eyes, I did my best to bar
the thought that I might be untethered and take flight
to drift endlessly into the ponderous far.
Will we fall through the sun and leave our charred
remains as a dull stamp upon eternal night
our lives but the flickered shadows of a distant star?
Who can give us answer, what sort of things we are?
Some God of gods who hides himself in brilliant light,
who grasps the inner strings yet reaches ponderous far,
who is closer than a shadow; more distant than a star.
Another poem here on Moss Kingdom about the fear of falling into the sky: A Balloon and his Friend