Astronomy

Escaped Through the Wormhole

Turning in the worm tunnel
          the lines
      unraveling
            while I’m time traveling,
I hear a ringing something in my gravity-------------stretched
ear, my spaghettified fear [look it up]
I’m near
a complex effect
yet, my ship is long wrecked,
we were connecting the sectors,
we are stardust collectors.
Too bad we neglected our trajectory
didn’t correct it to victory,
now in a strictly forbidden wormhole
hidden within another dimension,
and just outside lies the elemental
nectars of divine planets
crammed in with
Neodymium & Neon
refracting towards far out fronds
of a galaxy beyond
Earthen sight
where light
is nearly gone
and gear-ran peons,
machines confined to geo-mines for eons,
have the rights of three delights,
drill, collect, and protect
this best tech for light years,
if blessed I’ll retrace my place in space
and free these spiritless slaves from
~Here~
I tear through time without steering,
barely aware of the immeasurable treasure
that I’m missing, still not sure if
the Magnetic planet will remain static
or have some dramatic impact as it’s attracted
towards reactive iron cores.
My doors are floored.

 

Keeping my cool
              while I sail through
              this wormhole
that pierces the fabric
of everything,
not totally certain,
if this is my closing curtain,
‘cause I’m only Carbon,
lonely and starving,
funneling and spiraling
the tunnel keeps turning,
eventually I’ll be burning,
I don’t think I’ll be returning
Home.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

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Untitled Love Poem

Our photos are dreams and poems – images of love

Focusing through soft light we are Mylar moments

Hoping for dawn – we dance in the stars after dusk

 

Tango – in the midnight ballroom of our procession

Planting our toes in stars – growing dreams in binary

Stripped bare – we are planetary – bodies in tandem

 

Heavenly silhouettes flowing forth from pages to be

Where wild winds whisper their sycamore secrets

And the western mountain trails are long and free

 

For what language is written that defines a horizon?

What delicate wings will take us there – what words?

Shall we grow guide feathers – or become zephyrean?

 

Sailing in and out of frames – through cameo pictures  

Across oceans – wanderlusting for the silver line of the sky

upon paintings of things to be – memories of our future

 

Traversing the Villanelles of night into Terza Rima days

Our eyes aperture to photograph the effigy of our hearts

These memories become the scrapbook – of love’s ways

 

Of dreams and poems – of moments

That we hold and hold tight

Until tomorrow is here again

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

except the last stanza, this poem is a Terza Rima about love - a very traditional content.