Reflected on the sea: the starlight censor,

emitting disapproval for intrusion,

the daily hordes of immigrants grow denser,

and fly by on the wings of bland confusion.

Horizons ever greener to these mortals,

who beg that blind beliefs be treated kindly,

but science opens yet another portal,

to shake the faith of those who flutter blindly.

Each day the same they fly towards anointment,

this line of pseudo saints is never ending,

with colors masking fear and disappointment,

deluding all who credit their ascending.

Perhaps the real glow watches, mutely roaring,

despair brings on regret and then bereavement,

as colored streams of light flit past, ignoring,

to dash upon the rocks of no achievement.