Rainbow Rust



Art by Tanya Shatseva


I was a star back then, when I still

danced in constellations,

sailing through tides of dark,

happily with my own kin.


I played the part of a deceased relative,

and that of a guide in dark,

for writers I was another poem,

and for the helpless, a hopeful spark.


But my kin left,

as time passed by, and they left

for distant lands, as I sat still,

watching the dark grow over me.


Moons and suns mocked me for my disgrace,

and it grew colder, darker, and heavier,

until I cried stardust,

and shed skin that many a man called rainbow rust.


Like moss the dark grew over my skin,

and with claws I tried to scrape it off,

until blood leaked from under them,

hardening my heart that was once soft.


I screamed but no voice came out,

I threw my arms around in rage but

engraved were a few ideals on my head,

that frantically forced my mouth shut.


I grew into a black star,

that elucidated pathos and fear,

a black hole that sucked every emotion out

of the most jubilant and joyous.


I now feed upon the suns and the stars whole,

the planets like marble balls roll down my throat,

and I belch glitter into the universe,

a nebula in space that thus floats.


A black hole I had become,

from a star that ceased to exist.

I now sit downtrodden under constellations and suns,

with hopes and joys that no longer persist.






been pretty long,

kinda disappointed that this poem sounds vague









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