Mediocrity in All the Grandest Night Skies

Can you let me paint myself to sleep?

Paint the sky. That is me.

The blinks. Those are my moles.

The mountain. Two. That, my feet.

 

Is that who I want to be remembered as?

A robust set of constellations in the night spread across two mountains?

Perhaps that is all I will show for the years plodding around,

Lugging possessions and mementos.

 

If that is who I become.

If that is all I become.

Then accept me.

Accept my mediocrity in all the grandest night skies.

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