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Der Mond
Der Mond
Under the pink moon and fuchsia skies,
A black rock stood over crimson tides.
Golden dust, glazed and split,
Sat on the painted mountain’s tip.
The dark stone fell through the rosy clouds,
Spreading the air and tumbling down
Over flashing cobalt hurricanes
Across the open Rockies’ plains.
Summer snow melted in Houston:
Destruction never stretched too thin,
Fatal nuclear white flakes
Set like a mane on roaring lakes.
But still, the pink moon stood aside,
Observing all the fuchsia skies
While the whole globe filled with sizzling fire
You liar
We fell hand in hand, still side by side,
In two paths, diverged in cosmic time.
Both strings of life held taut—
In one, I live; the other, not.
I sat in my steel box.
With strange eyes, you watched
Me press the button soft,
And then my atoms were lost.
Immersed in strange nuclear clouds,
There was a lovely flash that was agonizingly loud.
I was too special for chance to make
The path that my soul would take.
So they strung a noose of bosons neat
And spun me around my feet
Above uranium trapdoors
As my memories come back once more.
I remember when we first met
At a tailor shop of no behest:
I walked in, you snipped black thread,
And it dropped before you lifted your head.
In slow motion, you glanced at me
Full of awe and joyful mystery.
You saw the first flash in tears,
And then your brightness reappeared.
And after a while, you
Laughed till I died, but know this, too:
I stood there infinitely bereft
When you left.
Derek Days is a high school junior in Dedham, MA. He enjoys playing ice hockey, drawing, and writing. As an avid Classicist, he studies Latin and Ancient Greek, and he is also the founder and editor-in-chief of his high school's classics magazine. Currently, he is working on a novel and screenplay in his free time.