Day 26 Prompt:  take a word or two invented by William Shakespeare, make it the title of your poem, and write your poem


She shone
a lackluster opal
framed in stars
too tired to shine brightly
Galactic winds blew
too weak to spin
static planets further
So the tides came calmer
and too soon dried up
salt stacking on sand
on forgotten ocean beds
If you noticed
you didn’t cry
for you, too, had given up
your own gravity
And the collective
just sat, or slept away
beneath fading light
too long to wonder why.


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