Ashes of the Cosmos: A Rural Nocturne As ashes of the cosmos, in this space, created by our gravity each of us orbiting one another blindly radiating from the bounds of our magnetism engaging cores of brilliant colored fire, though coldly formed alone burn ardent as inertia is percolating erupting to emanate throughout the unending vastness, touching, changing, spreading within us like pulsing, stratified veins each as deep as the fathomless abyss of the universe, each as coiled as the serpentine spiral, of the ever intertwining galaxies of our mutating bonds and genes and interactions never to sleep again, only to evolve dispersing to coalesce with charged bodies for dynamic forces as we, colliding, reacting, in empathy of entropy transfusing our light in each, light transfused in us all selves merging till nova cataclysms unwaning in moonlight, exponential in magnitudes with eyes refracting ineffable revolutions spinning mosaic through the constellations of kaleidoscopic presence only fearing the unbearable awing of a bellowing God who shallows the mountainside, and humbles the firmament ceasing us lesser in the void of creation, but greater in its overwhelming grasp only following the glinting connections of an everlasting affinity perceived in zenith at a tearful void, that evaporates from the disintegrating cheek of forever weeping through the billions upon billions to end, when we may return to timing or to unparalleled motion nonexistent to consequence, unburdened by mechanism that is all to ask, the question for which decaying dies when the drifters pass the guardian through the portal of our hopeless hearts so they may course the rivers of nerves in electric dimensions sparking the fingertips that brush along the lightening fields of nebulous clouds within our thoughts and dreams and memories all living on in the afterglow instilling or instilled in souls of linear continuance, purity burgeoning through the ions of sorrowed concavity each sunspot bursting forth from the craters of emptiness waking all from the somnolence of a desolate darkness………………........................................................ Oh, the stars are bright tonight but only until the dawn, when they dissipate into stardust of glimmering time yet each silvery moment is eternal, if caught in its ephemeral span like one of thousands of Leonids, cascading the silent, dark canopy of the boundless night sky all striving to return to the nexus of it’s birth, to be reborn into an infinite number of other fragile, infantile moments you cannot seize them all with your firefly net but go as the children do, unabashed Poem by T.R. Tingrave from "Of Lone Dust, Stirring"
Posted on: Sat, 31 Aug 2013 06:54:47 +0000
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