Space

Drifting, changing,
Forever redefined,

Shifting, phasing,
Always evolving,

The constant in
Eternal dance.

The Edge

In the grand order
We stand meaningless,
Limited in our condition.

We dream and vision
Treks and wars
In our battlefield of imagination.

But even our wildest dreams,
Our grandest visions,
Halt their advance
At the edge of the galaxy.

And none dare go further.
We remain,
Unable to penetrate
The shrouded void.

Love

Can I, in some deep dream,
Own to myself this feeling grand,
Veiled in mystery and
Etheric in its nature?

Just, only rarely
And still it embraces
Me and all others who live.
Evermore it continues,
Sweet and sour

Holy and divine,
Of God's own domain,
Love is something more,
Dearer.
Esteemed it shall be
Now and forever.

Enough

I am not the smartest,
I can be really dumb.

I am not the bravest,
Nor am I the strongest,
I am not the funniest,
Or the loudest.

I am not the best,
Or the most of anything.

But I can have a lightbulb
Alight atop my head,

I can run into the fires
And carry your burdens.

I can at times manage
To make you laugh,
And I can laugh myself
Out loud without a care.

And though I am not 
The most of anything

I yearn to be myself
And can only hope

That is enough.

Write a Poem

Write a poem,
Any poem;
It can be about whatever
And take any shape you wish.

It could be about rainbows and butterflies
About the warmth of love
Or the bitterness of its passing.

It might be about the kings of old
Their eternal empires
And their now decayed might.

It might be a sonnet,
Shakespearean or otherwise.
Or perhaps something fragmented,
A falling leaf in the wind.

It could have colour; yellows and reds and oranges,
And it could resemble a horse.

It could be an assortment of stones
Of various sizes, somewhere in the woods,
Where a stranger might one day stumble upon it,
Or not.

Write a poem,
Or rather
Allow it to emerge.

Unfiltered thought in a few scattered words
Be they ink, coal or rock,
On paper or out in the world.

Write a poem,
And allow yourself to feel
The flow.

Not because anyone will read it,
Or allow it to flow through themselves.
Not because of praise or glory,
For few have that luxury.

Write a poem,
To explore your truest self.

Write a poem,
To reach for
Immortality.