Reaching out across the stars,
we've had to fight since birth,
so that our burning avatars
could unite our lights on earth.
Arms raised not to withdraw
beneath the crying horizon,
a closing coup de grâce
where a shattered moon is rising.
Towards one another we race
with no space left to divide
the endless dancing embrace
of two worlds that finally collide.
All I have is a photograph
and a blank page with your name,
our lives have clearly changed,
but my heart still feels the same.
So I write down a few scattered lines,
and add a chord or two,
just trying to make new memories of you.
I'll play this song beneath the stars,
watch it dance into the sky.
If on the wind my words do fly,
then you'll hear my lullaby.
Will you look above and think of me
as a shooting star breaks through,
maybe words will make wishes come true.
Now I have a brand new page
with a picture, poem, and song.
I know it's been so long,
but my love's still standing strong.
If a picture paints a thousand words
then this poem will never do,
but I want to make new memories with you.
If I were the rain,
I'd be dying to touch the earth,
cascading from nimbus clouds,
desperate to quench your thirst.
Yearning to bring new life
and glistening morning dew,
to a cold and arid place
where a garden never grew.
Today the sun may shine,
tomorrow may be the same,
but somewhere on the horizon
are skies that I'll reclaim.
I'd shower you with tenderness
and promises never untrue.
If I were the rain,
I'd be falling for you.
Longing through lonesome days,
supplicating the sun to set.
I anxiously await your arrival,
should consciousness concede to what I covet.
Only in fanciful fantasies,
in the delight of darkness,
and in our notoriously nocturnal nature,
have I ever happened upon happiness.
Give me the gift of your grace,
the spell of your sweet surrender,
and the temporarity of tonight
will flourish into forever.
In the day I may wistfully wander
halfheartedly and uncommitted,
but in dreams I know not the words
lonely or unrequited.
Astral architecture hangs on the balance of my once fragile mind, now unbound and open to the potential of the Penrose Stairs that I climb. Infinity, I thought, was an innate idea man was not meant to understand, because if the universe is in fact infinite, into what does it expand?
Standing at the precipice of epiphany, teetering at the very cusp of clarity, it came to me in a monumental moment of sibylline singularity:
It expands into itself.
The thought was too profound to perceive, too ravenous to be satiated. Could this be at long last, the answer for which I have waited?
I realized that consciousness operates under a similar uniformity: the brain won't outgrow the head, but the mind will outgrow the body, and our echoes will radiate across the endlessness of existence, for all our forgotten frequencies are oblivious to the concept of distance.
We are all limitless beneath the veil of this perceived reality,
but only there are we human, and only then are we free.