I look to the vast sky
past time
at us
our vows
our life
hues and tint
joy and sin
reap and sow
our bond
a band
our ring
an ode no poem can pen
each beat, each word
burn the page it lays
they rage
We live on
About the Creator
Jennifer David
I hope my thoughts challenge yours
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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 Curtis4 days ago in Humans
Comments (1)
This is beautiful, Jennifer. Your word choice is exquisite, and it has a simple pace that simply rolls off the tongue. Well done, my friend!