Welcome,
In continuing with the current poetry/prose/stream of consciousness theme, I have another piece to share that I thought would suit the environment and atmosphere that has been created here on His Empty Space.
I found this on a note of paper and thought of it as more as a series of questions or way of seeing and posing questions, following the a planetary contemplation.
Enjoy.
If we really are that of dead stars, the same matter that shines onto our bodies and makes the world and all of life perceivable, and closes it at night with a lunar father for whom our eyes seem to gleam at against the moving expanse of night, then we are eternal.
Do we all become solar once the blood is starved of energy? When our frames are burnt and bereaved; our works and memories sealed in vessels for others to find.
Your beauty is indissoluble, and I hear too the burning force, that never-ending tacit whisper. I long for the equilibrium of stars, of the wondrous tracts that console to our path of vicissitude. We are the nearing laugh, the same perspiration, the lived and waning body, across and afar; learned and ceaseless in our will to expand.
Image reference: Hand Pictograph.
Thanks for stopping by.
Tom.
His Empty Space 