It is a spiral spinning down
a marble at the top
a gentle tap
a long way down.
It the journey, they say
it's in how you interpret the abyss.
We're all spinning, though
the sun in its place
the planets elliptical
the tears soaked up by your pillow
are spreading with equal velocity
as the earth.
When things topple down, the rest follows
things that you thought you didn't care about
things you thought were forgotten
people, friends, could-have-beens,
cardboard crates labelled "future" get lost in the storm
entropy, really.
Meaning the pieces are of a puzzle made to be destroyed.
And the ephemeral nature of the future
is something we have to embrace,
for, though it is a long way down,
there is no abyss here.
Just damp pillows and a lost soul clinging to a marble
just like the rest.
Pining away
yearning for a gentler tap.