Beach sheoak
Swaying with the breeze
Softly she spoke
Living in ease
She said to me:
You are free
No one to appease
Your path is your own
And you’re never full grown
Learn for eternity
Live and let be
About the Creator
Dominic Casey-Lee
Ecclectic, erotic, enigmatic. Exploring the mysteries of our existence through words, and hopefully providing some entertainment along the way.
Here you'll find excerpts from my fantasy project, stories, poems and general rambling.
Keep reading
More stories from Dominic Casey-Lee and writers in Poets and other communities.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis6 days ago in Humans
Comments (1)
Amazing poem about life. life is what you make of it.