I don't think it's very good, but then nothing's ever done until it's all over, so we'll see if it gets finished. Generally I think poetry is too high of an art for me, but like a kid fingerpainting, sometimes I take great joy in tapping into something that is above me.
Supernova
Patrick Eckhardt
When a star can die you know
The way of the world is a cosmic tragedy.
While galaxies are swirls of stars too numerous to count
Solar systems are swirls of planets around one star and I bet
When a star dies a galaxy still lives but it’s harder to ignore
When light and swirling stops on your rock.
Interstellar beauty is beyond me,
Simplicity is, by definition, easier to understand.
Did you know? There are bugs
Who live for a day. Make love. Die.
No galaxy notices them, but they can
Make water smoke in an obscene cloud of sex and beauty.
Did you know? There is man
Who winds through days with eternal significance
Felt mostly by him. He lives for a day.
Makes love, with his life, to this earth,
Then dies. The galaxy is a cold, swirling place
Of ever-changing beauty too big and real far too real.
If everything must die then that is the way of the world
But. Did you know? There are starts that are dreams.
Comets are not stars but they are beautiful too. And they are
Dying because you can only hurtle haphazardly for so long
Before you hit something unseen but
Maybe seen before. Man sees a crater but the indifferent galaxy still swirls.
