In being consumed by eternity I feel
light —
ah, but the dark matter grows so heavy,
you say,
the cosmos inconvenient, you complain
as if one cause can be
charted.
In the stars? In my heart
there is only this eternity; infinity
marks my inner being, but
that is insipid to claim,
you say.
I ask you — what is insipidity? When
I am filled with eternity?
How nebulous.
© 2016 Stellular Scribe
Stellular Scribe 