To Infinity

Day 2:

Pock-marks on midnight skin,
You are ill.

Sick with beauty,
fevers burn a billionfold
as roiling Chaos stretches out.

Grounded, distant lights stare back,
hoping for some reprieve.

But we cannot truly fathom,
across the icy interim
of nothing,
just how doomed
or destined is your tiny glow,

When our own burns brighter
than anything we’ve ever seen
as long as
we keep our eyes closed.

 

“…a poem about the stars.”

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One thought on “To Infinity

  1. Pingback: Creative Process, Days 1 & 2 | rhythm's nest

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