Boredom, immersed in black nocturnal
liquid.
An infinite and boundless darkness
of molten silence.
Faint seductive whisperings
of distant stars.
Radiation, the universe’s working
symphony,
Played out in lethargic musical
biographies.
Announcing birth,
Composing songs of life,
And shocking crescendos of
death.
A recording of endless melodies,
Chronicling the distant lives,
With galactic percussions rumbling
in stride.
They’re interludes, heard by
a select few,
And lived my many.
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