The Geminid Meteor Shower

The night sky splits—

a black canvas torn

by the bright shards

of a broken god’s son.

Each meteor:

a sliver of Phaethon’s shame,

stony-iron wreckage

from the chariot he could not command.

The sky opens

to receive the fragments

of an asteroid’s crumbling heart—

iron and stone,

bitter with memory,

trailing fire through December’s hush.

A thousand streaks of light—

the reckless children of Phaethon—

plummet in brilliance,

burning the air

with the wishes of millions.

Each one a warning.

Each one a wound.

Each one a prayer

extinguished mid-flight.

And so they fall—

vaporized dreams,

reduced to cosmic ash,

swept beyond the veil of horizon,

where even memory fades.

No glory in the fall.

Only vapor.

Only dust.

Only the story of a boy

who dared to touch

what belonged to gods.

And we, below,

lift our faces in awe,

unaware we are watching

a thousand executions—

wishes gone astray,

ambitions turned to ash,

as winter dawns

on the limits of desire.