C.S. Starling

@cs-starling.bsky.social

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Word, cat and outdoor enthusiast. Sharing short form poetry and musings about my writing journey. Novel(s) incoming.

White text on a black background that reads: A flower blooms at the end of the world Her delicate petals blushed with peach And beaded with morning dew A tiny mote of life and yet So much more For what beauty can blossom Amidst such desolation? Perhaps it was resilience that kept her strong Through the snow and the fire Taking nourishment from the ash Or maybe it was her grief that moved her Calling her towards the sun To be a balm in the wake of such loss For the few who remain But perhaps it is simpler yet And neither frost nor flame Nor pollution so thick it blotted out the sun Told her to hide and wait for better days That it was merely the spinning of the seasons Which roused her from her slumber Their cycles impervious and indifferent To all that would befall the earth In the stillness of the morning Whispers on the wind sing of The end of the world But the little flower wonders As she warms her petals in gentle sunlight The end of the world for whom? All things ebb and flow The tides recede and the leaves fallow Making room for something new Whatever left did not go quietly Did not think it was their time But only fools struggle at the end For time it was, all the same And thus the cycle begins anew
White text on a black background that reads: Waiting Once I drummed my fingers Paced with anxious anticipation For the door before me to open As so many had before At first it was excitement That held me Desperate to know What life lay beyond the threshold And I would step forth with purpose Only to realise There was another room Another door And soon I was waiting again So many rooms And so many doors Quicker and quicker Until I stopped seeing the walls And furnishings altogether If there were people or animals Or any sort of oddity I never paused long enough to know Until I came to this room With its dust and faded wallpaper Sagging with the neglect of time Had this rot been chasing me? Insidious and ravenous While I was too consumed By what was next To notice its unrelenting pursuit Creeping ever closer It seems obvious what waits Beyond that final door How keenly now I feel The sharp sting of regret Such beauty passed me by And now all I have left Is the contemplation Of my foolish haste As veins of decay seep Through the cracks Knowing the wood is only Whetting its appetite In its search For me
White text on a black background that reads: Un Coup de Coeur The vein in your neck Flirts with me when you laugh Your eyes are less sure Instinct screams its alarm And yet you cannot look away As enthralled by my beauty As I am by yours You will, in time When you finish your drink And politely excuse yourself Blaming traffic and work Regret itching at your skin As you wonder What the night would have held If you had stayed But fear not, mon chéri, Do not deny your desire As we commence our dance Through the shadowed streets A waltz, or a minuet, perhaps Your pulse suggests otherwise With its relentless accelerando The rush and the roar Of a sanguine symphony Soaring to its peak So calm your worries Mon petit fleur And come to me I wish only to see you smile As ecstacy floods your veins After all What is there to fear? This is nothing more Than un coup de coeur Destined to die By the dawn
White text on a black backgtthat reads: Extinct The enormity of space Captivated and frightened In equal measure Vast beyond comprehension And despite the maddening number Of galaxies entangled In the cosmic web No contact was made Nothing to suggest anyone Or anything Existed somewhere else In the void But fear can be misplaced And in the end We realised we needn't have Looked so far For I have never known Such existential dread As I do now Staring back at our planet Now empty And silent As the last of us flee Into the mercy of the cosmos Knowing we have no one to blame But ourselves
White text on a black background that reads: The Vigil-Keeper Eventide scatters golden light Across worn, hallowed stone Dappled with shifting colours From glass halos and fluttering wings The hour brings stillness A reprieve from shuffling feet Or half-hearted whispers While a sneeze soared towards The heavens above He sweeps in the reverent calm Clearing leaves and careless litter A nightly ritual of care Odd, how God never spoke to him His questions unheeded, unheard Only to be answered instead By the seasons, the elements And the quiet peace of a chapel at dusk Hundreds of candles flicker and sway Bathing the walls in gentle light Memories, lit by those who one day Will be orange flames themselves He knows no candle will burn for him Alone as he is in these winter years But when his bones are dust Free to dance on the fickle wind His soul will seek the solace of this place Of the wick-bound warmth of all those He tended as their wax burnt low And in this light They will be one
White text on a black background that reads: Till Death Delicate skirts shift in evening’s breeze Their snowy lace ripped and marred Hanging from the bed’s posters That buckle beneath the weight Of a duty never wanted Never fulfilled Through broken windows and sagging ceilings The old manor groans with every breath A symphony of decay Fissures crawl along the walls in time Scattering plumes of mould and paint Over the rotten carcass of a cake The tiers long collapsed Bearing the wounds of savage hands That had taken their fill And left the rest to its fetid fate The chandelier lies crumpled in the hall Shrouded by a veil of dust Glowing above a single candle Still alight Its dancing flame had once shifted Setting the veil ablaze So its acrid smoke coiled towards the heavens How the wind howled its delight But another had soon taken its place And another And another Until the candle’s flame did not dance again The footprints in the dust soon Stilling their waltzing step As the manor’s death rattle Moaned no more
White text on a black background that reads: The Privilege of Guilt Do you hear them? The cries of the innocent Begging for mercy Does it ignite rage in you As their homes crumble Reduced to smoke That chokes skies and lungs Or is it quiet relief you feel That it is them And not us Do you pretend all is well? Swiping past the horrors Idly wondering When will it stop? Too weak to weep As they waste away We shrug and say What can we do? The brave few were Vilified for raising their voices When others couldn’t But can powerlessness Really be an excuse When humanity is withering Before our eyes Condemned by greed Our guilt will not save them As we wonder When will it stop? It Must Stop
White text on a black background that reads: The Endless Sky Infinity holds a terrible beauty Everything and nothing All at once A mirrored view of this thing we call Existence Breathtaking yet maddening In its contradictions Of houses and cities and countries Bursting at the seams On a planet that grows evermore distant In an expanding universe That is more space than space Even the mighty atom is not spared From this emptiness So how are we to be blamed For loneliness amidst the crush As we stare into the heavens Searching for purpose For meaning Knowing that with time All will be dust In the cold expanse of the cosmos The endless sky to which All returns And yet What power we have To fill this fathomless void With hopes and dreams Whole worlds and lifetimes Despite their intangible ephemera It is solace on the darkest nights When the pain of our nothingness Cannot be soothed For what is nihility but Possibility distilled A mere thought and we Transcend Boundless and infinite Once more
White text on a black background that reads: Cosmic Melancholy I once scoffed at This notion of fated love That something could be Written in the stars We gaze up at Their flickering glow Mere remnants of Distant galaxies Long dead But in truth I've never felt such Cosmic melancholy More keenly than tonight I waited, denied Hid from you Thinking I would have time To become who you deserved Not knowing I would Never have the chance And so the stars mock me A glimmer of what could have been Had I believed you When you said I was enough And now all that remains is A shadow of your memory That haunts my aching soul As time pulls me ever further From your light
White text on a black background that reads: “If I am going to die here, Jak, at least have the courtesy of telling me what’s going to kill me.” She scoffed humourlessly at the grave look that had seized his features. “You know, in the weeks before Kato left, he became obsessed with books, poems, anything he could get his hands on. Never really shown that much interest in them before but there he was, pouring over mythology and children’s fairy-tales, driven almost to the point of obsession. Of course, whenever I asked about it, he became irritable and defensive. Familial traits, evidently.” Her eyes flicked to Jak in expectation of retaliation, but he had since leant against the opposite wall, two months of stress and sleepless nights suddenly evident in his hollow, haunted expression. “Did you see what he was reading?” he asked, scowling when Lylí snarled in frustration.
Text that reads: An individual’s genetic information had become mainstream in the past few decades, bolstering medicine and the coffers of insurance companies alike. As such, the algorithms had been fed the world’s data to build our survival plan. Even amongst such brilliance, the arrogance that had emerged had been staggering. Extraordinary really, considering the apocalypse had opened its boundless maw and we were all clinging to its canines, squabbling over how the code should be written. Sense had prevailed, thankfully, and well, here we all were.