Off in space, as it seems,
Disconnected darkly where
None could hear the screams
Of tortured coldness
Except for the occasional
Neptune passing by,
Who you probably wouldn’t
Let hear you cry
Since away from such
You brokenly ran away
Parting from grave orbit
In a memory far away.
Of you twain escape artists
Which of you works the hardest
And which is most rife with sin
And evil down below within?
Charon the loving boatman
Who does others deliver
To Hell, your pal, who is
Larger only a sliver.
Or Pluto, the incarnate Hell
Whose atmospheric shell’s frail
As a mask where all can see
In the light there it does be
On the one half thinly in glee
For hiding the darkly empty.
Calmly with pure intents
You happen to deceive
Yourself, Charon, and all souls
From him you do receive.
Though one of you is bigger
In the force of gyration,
The tugging created diminishes
You both in force of the rotation.
With the elliptical orbit which
Is planetarily unfitting
Throughout the spinning galaxy
You seem to be sitting
Unable to truly master collaborative
Force, as in a gerrymander.
You’ll never become the something
Much more powerful and grander.
Woe you weren’t the hidden planet that
Influences the orbit of Neptune;
You separated and settled
For being a double moon.