morning, evening, noon, night
i dare you to try & dim my light.
up, down, left, right,
fuck, my chest is tight.
7, 8, 9, 10,
only a few more seconds, and it'll end.
yes, no, maybe so,
do you enjoy seeing my blood flow?
north, south, east, west,
does anyone care to hear my last breath?
read, write, listen, speak,
i'm standing on my two feet.
morning, evening, noon, night,
i'll be my own light.
About the Creator
Courtney Ann
I am a writer, aspiring author, raiving reviewer, and an alliteration specialist.
I like having fun with the words. I hope my words make you feel something.
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More stories from Courtney Ann 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 Curtisabout 13 hours ago in Humans
Comments (2)
Sometimes we got to be our own light and support ourselves, even if we are not being seen. Kind of reminds me of street performers. Love this poem, it's so relatable.
That ending is inspiring, but I hope you're okay!