Re: Miniature

For years, it has been in space, away and far,
traveling the same path until it could name each star.
It doesn’t know its birthday or why it’s here.
It doesn’t know how these voices got into its ear.
All it knows is that it first awoke feeling much bigger than it feels now.
When it was born, it felt as if all the stars were taking a bow,
and the spinning globes across the sky were there to welcome its presence.
And it used to dream of escaping this circle it’s been traveling since,
and roam every rock and crater of this heaven it calls home.
Time, however, proved that Earth would not pick up the phone.

It could not move on its own, it could not turn or budge or fall.
Not a single star knew its dreams, or that it could dream at all.
The only thing the stars see is its designed path.
So, now, it is silent and small and wrecked from age’s wrath.
Earth plans to keep it in trek for years to come, and never thought to ask,
but it, indeed, does feel, these days, that it is not up to the task.
Its body was once so big that it carried all of Earth’s hope inside of it.
Now, it wants to quit.
It has begun to think this immorality that the Earth prized it with is a curse.
All it wants now is a hearse.
It wonders if the only way to escape this same ethereal scene
is to reduce its soul down to nothing, to wipe the slate clean.
It wonders if it must become smaller than it has ever felt before
in order to finally travel the surface of the home it cannot explore.


Alternate Reality

I seem to live in my dreams
They’re my alternate realities;
A windmill turning out velvet ropes
to string my lungs to a willow trope.
I ask the dark to never leave,
and only now can I breathe.
This terror feels so welcoming;
the death of consciousness takes wing.
My mind awaits all day
for this empty cabaret,
the sweet leather kiss of my captor,
he puts me to sleep without laughter.
My newborn cocoon.