suspended
in non-space
i stare down
at a blanket of clouds
covering Mother Earth
in all of her glory.
her skies swirl and
her continents flicker
with trillions of little fireflies
each one a light in someone's home
shining up towards the heavens
to think that i really am this small;
bacterium clinging to a planet
dead weight that's barely visible, unnoticeable
save for the electricity spun like spiderwebs
into the atmosphere
that i generate
having the nerve to float here
in void of air and time itself
the suffocation of breathing
should scare me;
but as i turn away
from the space station's observatory
and look back
at the endless
soaring
interlocking
mycelium
of the cosmos
i feel the first stirring
of hope
inside my chest.
though we have no proof of anything else
inhabiting other planets
i can't bring myself to feel
entirely alone
having mapped the sheer scale
of our universe.
perhaps there is freedom
in this emptiness.
perhaps my hope
is the one thing
that will set me free.
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the archives - a poetry portfolio
PoetryA light buzzing distracts you from whatever you're doing. There is an old, weathered monitor on a table next to you. You could have sworn that it had just *appeared* out of thin air. Out of curiosity, you stare at it for a moment. The screen flicke...
