There was a young man named Bright
Who- traversed faster, with colors-
Heat, cold and light.
He set out one day,
in a relative way...
And returned on the previous night.

An airless wind- he turned it super cool-
He stretched out to measure,
the chalky fingerprints of Death,
He took a chain, however long,
He made it straight, however tight,
Against the teeth of gravity and weight.

Vibrating Anger danced within the wisdom of Dark-
Over bellowing waves and ineffable foam,
to create tiny curled membranes of orbits.
How flimsy, feeble and fragile it seemed-
His yolk of thoughts screamed like a shower of shooting stars.

The geometry of winter sailed through-
the ponderingly wondrous locus of infinity.
There were those rushing waves-
mountains which roared of thunderous shrieks,
And, Ages on ages on a dead planet.

Then Came one Summer,
swelling with the pleasures of a velocity.
Which outshone the loss of fallen leaves,
And he-
sprayed iron and salt onto the light.

He became a young man named Bright-
who whistled in wonder to swallow the lake of dreams,
and overturning all its jars,
like a feeble fevered coiled ghost,
he vanished!