Off in some
far pocket of the
infinite
universe
swirls a massive galaxy,
burring orange, hot,
churning out
uncountable stars,
gravity’s
dust children
glowing with the memory
of eternity.
And who has
never wished upon
a star, or
watched, wide-eyed,
as a sudden escapee
shoots across the sky,
its bright tail
streaming out behind
like a Fourth
of July
sparkler freed from the hand that
held it prisoner?
Oh, to be
that majestic swirl
creating
the stuff that
dreams are made on –
to make the
jewels we worship
as we stand
tethered to the cold
earth, captive
to its woes!
But all I own are these words,
clusters of black dots
written on
the wind, swallowed by
the greedy
gullet of
time, disappearing into
the virtual void.
Red Rover Magazine 