Embrace the shadows, step into the night,
A burst of brilliance, a celestial light.
Across the starry canvas, a painter's delight,
Swift strokes of hope, a cosmic flight.
Picture the void without those distant dots,
Life without hope, connecting the plots.
Constellations, ancestors' imagination,
Stillness and calm, a cosmic revelation.
In quiet moments, I sit and gaze,
Waiting for Geminid meteoric blaze.
Whispering gratitude, my heart ablaze,
For a cloudless sky, a celestial phase.
Hope lingers, ever so near,
In the darkness, it perseveres.
A mystery shrouded, yet crystal clear,
Revealed to those with skyward cheers.
Shooting stars, a celestial dance,
Big and small, they twirl and prance.
In awe, I watch, in a cosmic trance,
Nature's wonder, a divine romance.
A sacred hour, devotion unfurls,
As shooting stars paint celestial swirls.
Faith renewed, as the universe twirls,
The Almighty's brush, in my life hurls.
About the Creator
Stella Yan PhD
PhD in Physics. Residing in the US. Deeply engaged in the exploration of math, science, and personal introspection; truly amazed by the mysteries of the universe and the complexities of the human mind.
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At the Sheltering Doors
The doors, they always scrambled for the doors first. When they arrive and always by night it was a race to desperately bar the creatures entry to the house in the slow crawl of numb feet that the dream would impose upon him. He never seemed fast enough and the creatures uninhibited by the same constraints always made the doors first. The houses in his dream-scapes vary night to night - Some are mansions, others shacks and some are distorted contortions of his childhood home which burned down when he was ten. But the doors are always the same – frail, loose hinged and never could be fully shut. The creatures too vary – twisted and corrupted forms of animals and people familiar to him: family dogs preternaturally swollen to twice their size with rotting coats of mange and slicked damp with dark liquids of decay. The people too were bloated vestiges of ones vaguely familiar to him but whose names escape him. Their eyes gorged wide with dark blood which streaked their mottled faces in crusted trails like lost rivers which hung from their chins swinging in ropy columns beneath paling yellowed teeth. To let them break through would mean death. This he knew with grave certainty. At the door was desperation and panic as their stench emanated forth, sickly and pungent like vomit and mold and ending in a gruesome exhalation like cancer, the stench sticky and clinging invading his nostrils and lungs never to be expunged. Then in the sudden waking he never knew if he repelled them or not.
By Kevin Rolly7 days ago in Horror
Comments (1)
Fantastic & loved it!!!💕❤️❤️