First Sight
Oh, how lovely must be your name
the kind that causes lovers blame
in falling for the angel's face
my heart she holds in time and space
a lovely sound I know it rings
or to my heart and soul it stings
how must it feel to do embrace
or enter into course and taste
exquisite love; delicacy
oh, how lovely your name must be
About the Creator
Hector Gonzalez
I'm a creative writer. I don't blog or write op-eds. I talk about my perspectives on twitch as I write and I consolidate my most intricate feelings into poetic forms. I'm always open for meaningful conversation.
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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 Curtis5 days ago in Humans
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