The rotating rock disintegrates in delicious black and blue molecules
the galaxy pries open its legs to let the gust of humanity enter

The end has begun for what was done has been undone.

Wailings of anguish from every corner…
this is the final stage.

High above the Earth, they writhed
they shouted to one another over and over.
At times in English, and at times in their native tongue.
But no matter what language they spoke, their pleas were the same –
The screaming unified all languages.

We pierce through dimensions, from paper to the intangible
so, which stage have we arrived at?

Here was death undone
and life that was not alive.

Here was the insane new world,
imposed by princes of some distant star,
miracles of the darkest design

We have graced with gaiety through the troubles of our culture,
where the cream often settles at the bottom, and the palest milk rose to the top.

We have allowed the sweet melody and good rhythms to cloud our vision,
in the service of shallow observations.

Pouring down glasses of anesthesia, in place of anxiety and grief,
the false world offered you a great warm, amid a sea of melancholy.

Though we have asked for God to protect us from the fire,
we constantly play with it, licking the flames in arrogance.

A shrinking world, made smaller by television, by satellite communications, by the internet.
And now, in mere seconds, all the bonds have been cut,
and the once compressed world,
now expands back to a size that it had been more than a century ago.

We are the waste. We are the void.
Waste.
And void.

The legs of the galaxy do not ever close.

Note: As I’m currently reading the Taking by Dean Koontz, I’ve been having recurring thoughts of death more often than usual lately. I’m disciplined enough this time around to write the quick thoughts onto post-its. This poem was written in a whole week, piecing together all of the post-its. Hopefully this lessens the heaviness on my noggins.