A Blink in Space

From the tumultuous nebula

I am born

A protostar, volatile, sparking with excitement and fusion, the cold breath of the new year

I found my path, and was thrown into my place in the galaxy

Carrying on with fusion, carrying on with life, despite the obstacles

My future a distant worry

My present an unsteady promise

Vowing not to live in the backgrounds I inhabited in the past

I greeted the foreground stars with an anxious hope

And began to move among them with conscious ease

Sometimes I was a comet, spiralling along the practiced and well-known path

Of day-to-day life and day-to-day studies

Other times I was a red giant, blazing through my energy with ferocious anger until I burn out

And rebuild myself anew

And then, out of the distance planes of space

I was pulled in by gravity

And became a binary star, the two of us moving in a surprisingly easy orbit

That never promised to stay easy

It was a blink in space

This passage of time

Moving impossibly fast within the infinite universe

And impossibly slow within my finite life

Inside the fragility of my flesh I am a burning star

Feet locked into Earth’s geode, and watching the poems of space above from underneath

Constellations spin around the celestial poles leaving streaking star trails

Like the streaks of rain on my window the very day we reconvened

The the binary star system we were once a part of

Torn apart and thrown together because our gravity is inescapable

We blink and it’s over so fast too fast

Galaxies collide stars die buildings crumble and trees find life in the decay

The nebula won’t sto

                               p won't stop moving and

                                                               Moving an

                                                                                d twisting

                                                                                        No pauses between then and now

                                                                                        What is and what will be

                                                                                        The chaos is a paint-mix of beautiful                                    

                                                                                        Gases and colors, greens and reds

                                                                                        And fuchsias and ceruleans and

                                                                                        Suddenly in the spaces between time

                                                                                        The nebula pulses and heaves

And I am born again

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741