Below the gallows and above the stars
breath wails out for hope,
even without those upon thars.
Dripping nitrogen and oxygen,
we are made of galactic stuff.
Thoroughly and dreamily we believed
in acting oh so tough.
A universe galloping, wildly, over the edge
no reigns to find in absent time,
we exhaust this empty pledge.
“I am human as I conceive of me,
and in this void, devoid of all,
I insert what I will be
despite pride before the fall.”
Sand drops the final shard,
ambition meets its end.
In this final darkness, child,
naught but love is friend.
One thought on “Formless”
We often, see ourselves as, more than we actually, are, when, we are, actually, not, as important as, we want to believe we are…