The further away things are in space when we look at them, The more we're looking at the past. So I think you must be at least as old as the universe To have left such an impact upon it. Your words as colourful as those pictures of nebulas; Words of wisdom that hover in the mind long after spoken. The cold, vacant space you inhale becomes blessed by your existence, Exhaled into the creation of heat, your breath births countless stars. Your suffering, a black hole. Dreadful, heavy beyond measure, eternal. Would swallow us all into death, split us into pieces, But you see how far we've come and want us to thrive. So the black hole swallows up the misery of others, Growing wider, the hole in your heart, endless. And then you end, so the universe ends. There are no more stars to be formed, Nor galaxies to add to the multitude you gave us. It's all gone. It just hasn't reached our eyes yet.