Across the frozen wasteland of speckled space,
Which reaches into the infinity of tomorrow from the land of the now;
I fly alone,
Passing others’ lives.
Soaring through the icy mists of detritus from imploded failure,
As they collapse into harmonious structures beneath a guiding stars light;
I watch life appear,
Nurtured under harshness.
And I ponder…
How does one create beauty in the blackness of sorrow,
Where the light does not shine and souls do not touch?
How does one approach the warmth of a star,
Jealously guarded by the debris of ages?
How does one live in a place devoid of nourishment,
And still create a pulse of cherished connection?
My musing produces no satisfactory answers.
So I return to observing the frenetic pattern of collapse, rebirth, and eventual collapse again,
Gleaning my answers from the perpetual, purposeless re-creation;
All ultimate failures,
From lack of connection,
Lack of appreciation,
Lack of nourishment.