Written by Callie Cheng
Art by Elvin Azizov
The skies will learn to rue my death
When fails me do, a fighting breath.
For seventeen, and several more,
She’s held me ‘tween her lips and teeth,
So might she clothe me in in her shore,
Like mother in the fire of her bosom’s wreath.
But mother, mother, set me free!
Don’t lullaby me sun-swirled clouds of foam,
Nor sing me lullabies of gravity,
My legs they seek to rise, to roam-
So do you once by gift me night,
To beckon me to sleep, to blight,
But tempt me with my eyes of sight,
To taste those gems of star’s delight.
So fault on me for wanting fire,
But fault on you for halting me,
When all this mortal do aspire,
Were brewed within the reign of thee.
So rue me won’t you, pitiful skies,
When all my fighting comes to demise?