Shimmering, glittering, the astral lights were.
As though they shed themselves off their old skin,
and were reborn on their new and brighter selves,
They shine as bright as an innocent's hope, never wavering, never faltering,
Until they travel the essence of time long enough
To become dwarfs.
And they die, but not before
Informing the whole universe
That they once existed.
I caught their sight on my childhood days,
when my thoughts were as young as a shepherd's lamb.
And yes, they did capture my fascination.
It wasn't long when the truth dawned on me,
that they were only but chaotic mixtures of gases.
They create chaos to exist,
they serve chaos to live.
And if you think about it…
So do we.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Of A Count
PoetryThis book is not suitable for audiences with zero percent sense of imagination and a mental age of two and below. I'm not really a great poet, just a guy who knows how to hold the pen and write the twenty six letters of the alphabet. But I like thin...
