<p>Yay! I wanna post a poem I recently wrote!
(Butternut, deride it mercilessly ;))</p>
<p>Look up.</p>
<p>See the stars that pepper the black?
Their pale, reflective faces
drop light like rain
on the graves of the slain
and illuminate the things we lack.
But sometimes they feel dark, too.</p>
<p>Dark and dense,
they just need their space.
So they cry and moan, all alone
in the empty chasms of antimatter
and condense into what they’ve always wanted to be:
little black holes that destroy,
little black holes that suck in the light
of their old, brilliant friends
until the light bends
and contorts into all manner of shapes
both Baroque and Modern.
And after they’ve had their fun, they put it out.
The little black holes steal the light,
crumpling it into white, crinkled spheres
of forgotten ideas and wasted opportunities.</p>
<p>Everyone knows that black holes never forgive.</p>
<p>They just get deeper and deeper,
piling up heaps, heaping up piles
of kidnapped light that once had dreams and
hopes of racing headlong out of the sun,
streaking beautifully in rainbow arcs toward
us.
The final destination.
But those dreams are dashed.</p>
<p>Look down.</p>
<p>See the earth that hugs your feet?
Its weak, ancient smile
tattered and torn
but always reborn
sprouts trees in ecstasy
but sometimes it gets tired of holding you.</p>
<p>Holding you up, up
under the majestic beauty of an unknown dimension,
the heavens that we can see, but never touch.
Like children, we want to pluck the little stars
so bright
so white
so perfectly right
and keep them all to ourselves, because no one else deserves them!
Then, like pixie dust,
we might toss them all up in the air
reveling in the sparkles and the temporary tingles
that come with selfish debauchery.</p>
<p>But it never lasts.</p>
<p>After a while we suck them in,
envelop the stars that we once cherished.
See, our hearts have grown cold,
emboldened by the sound of our own voice
but too proud to be told
that we sold out to the textbooks
and paychecks
and government rainchecks,
that we mold ourselves
fold ourselves
into the shapes that Uncle Sam and Hollywood say are the right shapes,
no longer Baroque or Modern!
So we hold on to what makes us happy,
but all the gold in the world won’t buy back our stars: our friends,
whose light we rolled up
and crushed so that we could bite it,
chew it,
swallow it whole,
and somehow feel stronger and wiser.</p>
<p>But we weren’t.</p>
<p>And now we’re enraged because the world’s not fair?</p>
<p>Grab onto the ragged edge of reality.
Stop drowning in the perfect limbo
between earth and sky.</p>
<p>Reach for the stars,
but if you ever happen to touch one,
leave it there.
Don’t you dare
look at it with lustful eyes
and tear it from its place,
trying to wear it around your neck
like some rare diamond,
meant to make you look pretty.</p>
<p>Instead, look up and look down.
The stars are shining,
the earth is smiling,</p>
<p>You should be, too.</p>
keep it up !</p>