Gardens and galaxies

Posted on Posted in Wonder

Don’t measure my pain

against yours

for no shade of dark nights

comes with a scale to compare

with absolutes of nothingness

 

My customised prison cell

comes with dying, rotting flowers

I once nurtured,

everything futile, I weep

as I wait to be finally one

with what was once my pride

 

And maybe, maybe yours

is the illusion of company

like a thousand brilliant lights

high up in the sky

desperately trying to reach their warmth

even as they blind you, burn you

 

How could we, strangers

made from different stardust

ever empathize without

colliding and destroying before we

integrate with each other

 

What’s left is to resort to admiring

without comparing

flowers to stars and gardens to galaxies

ultimately, when all’s said and done

the emptiness is vast for all

Leave a Reply