The Last Days Of A Starfish

A Poem by Richard

At the end of every tunnel comes a light so luminous and attractive, so pervasive and beautiful, that sometimes, you can’t help but feel compelled to move toward it. You’ve heard the conversation of water against shore, the shrill whistle of two dolphins in love, the lazy pull of the moon, now you’re ready..

Every 30 years or so (adjusted for aquatic holidays) nestled deep in coral, the bio-calendar dictates the life and activity of the starfish.
The starfish peculiarly doesn’t react to pain and loss quite like we do.
What they do is bury their heads in the sand and avoid contact with the outside world.
If having lost a loved one .. they’ll cry silently to themselves.

Pitch black tears similar to the depressed ink which leaks from an Octopus or Tri-Octopi. The shark feels it too. The sensation is so devastating they’ll actually bite their own tails off. The hammerhead knows it’s not beautiful so it swims in circles forevermore. Every creature needs great care. Where do you think the nurse shark got it’s name?
Obviously, The clownfish isn’t always laughing.
On days when the great beam of sun; known in the underwater world as ‘The Source’ is hidden behind a cloud, when the water becomes unbearably dark, when the astro-maia-quata cycle of auto-regeneration has become stagnant.. and .. those nights where even the stars are too sick to twinkle - We see the final days of the starfish are among us.

I keep thinking I could be the one to save a life.