Our own swirling galaxy dramatically twirls in vast space like a ballerina
And the stars are its audience.
Within, each planet is its own performance
Spins and spins, only for itself.
Far away are the small ones,
Spinning in their own beautiful, erratic pattern.
From our own earth, we can only catch snippets as they go by,
And we can never see the whole rotation.
The planets of our solar system spin radically
And from our own we can never truly see
How gloriously they move.
But, of course, we may never see how our galaxy moves,
Twirling and twisting through the skies,
Because we are trapped inside and
We can not yet make a satellite that flies so far.
We can not yet escape our solar system.
YOU ARE READING
Art Will Survive, Artists Won't
PoetryThis book is a compilation of free-form poetry that I've written. Most of it is pretty personal, but I hope you'll like it regardless. POSSIBLE TRIGGERS: depression, self-harm, lgbtq+, suicidal thoughts
