The Twelfth Hour Whispers

I've always lived in the sky, amongst the stars

We were dotted around the naked flame, placed as a royal council, henchmen groomed in the literature of animated story telling.

Awaiting orders to propel the spears upon our waist towards the end of the earth, the dividing thrust that conflicted night, that which was the breaking of dawn.

Silently pitched across the constellation, visible only on the whispers of tunes, melodies rarely seen requiring gravity to be heard.

Remnants of former tenants, portions of demised homes. I am a star, the fearful luminous sphere, guardian of the four winds and invisible when the twelfth hour sings.