Image by NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center via Flickr
the sun burns and tear drops fall from its rays
the internal combustion that is the life of us all
constantly destroys itself and draws energy
from destruction and the contained calamity
one of these days that beautiful star is gonna burn out
one of these days he’s gonna implode and leave a big black hole
a big black hole right in the middle of the universe of his heart
where all matter will be drawn in and deconstructed
in reverse creation, the dismantling of life and love and creativity
and perhaps one particle will survive
and collide into another on its way into oblivion
and a newness of spirit will arise from the dust
I hope so, for our sakes…
for the Sun and I
I was told that I was haunted. Now I know it’s true. The thoughts creep under my covers and snuggle up with me in the bed; they whisper ideas that threaten me with evaporation should I dare not get up, 55 minutes past my bedtime, and write them down. Just as I’d begun to think that there was no way I’d write a post a day but I would try for the once a week challenge and this blog is supposed to be about only poetry anyway.
This is not the first time. It was the one of many when I told a wise friend that I can’t sleep sometimes because I am writing or creating that she told me I was haunted. By what? She wouldn’t say…but I knew. And now I won’t say either for the purpose has been fulfilled (but if you pay attention, you’ll hear about it one day in a song).
Tomorrow, there will be poetry…only poetry…I hope.