home awaits us by
the embrace of everwarm
candlelight carols
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Thank you for reading!
Wishing you a holiday season be filled with joy, warmth, and peace in the circle of those you love!
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You can read some of my other holiday-themed haiku here:
About the Creator
R.I. Károly
R. I. Károly is a Hungarian author currently based in Germany. Her work explores both poetry and prose in both Hungarian and English.
Her haiku chapbook "We Fall Through" can be purchased as ebook here.
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More stories from R.I. Károly 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 Curtis5 days ago in Humans
Comments (1)
Beautiful, thank you for sharing.