Monday, January 21, 2019

Singularity, a poem


The black hole at the center
of my galaxy
pulls in tomorrow, pulls
in the light of every
promised dawn. I spiral
inward, countless stars
drawn cascading in
my wake, all meaning, all
being, following.
It can not be seen.
It can not be named,.
but abides; it is.
The black hole swallows me.

Stephen Brooke ©2019

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