there is a star,
somewhere
near the edge of everything,
and it has a hole
in it.
and
no matter what
it will always
be there.
i intended to message you
earlier tonight, when i was
certain you had already fallen
asleep.
i wanted to share with you
some distant, problem thoughts
i've been having, rolling them
like hard little stones
from my mind
to yours, so hopefully
you might understand
if anything ever changes.
i want you to know
that i might
not always answer.
i want you to know
someday
my ribbon might
run dry,
and that the strangely
fantastical things
that i write, might
run dry also,
unless i decide
to copy my early work.
but,
i need you to know
that i will always
be here;
nine hours away,
seven thousand
seven hundred
eighty two
kilometres away.
i need you to know
that i will
always be here;
on the other side
of the blue light
of your screen.
and
i need you to know
that your words
are always in my thoughts,
radiation burned into
flesh of my mind.
and even if i
don't always respond,
and even if my words lose
whatever saccharine flavor
they may carry,
i need
you to know
that i will
always be here.
because
there is a star,
somewhere
near the edge of everything,
and it has a hole
in it.
and no matter what,
that hole
will always be there.
YOU ARE READING
Melancholia
Poésiepoetry takes us to so many places, and we take poetry to so many places. here are poems about places, and sometimes the people found in them.
