In space we seem weightless.
Hidden by face.
A reflection of inside,
who we are
when we fall.

Space is kind,
but space is cruel.
Honoring the solitude,
while grasping to never fly nor fall.

An angel without the wings,
hovering over the sky.
Not falling.
Not floating.
Just being..
there.

Repetition reminding,
we exist nowhere.

Leaving fear,
and apathy,
seen in distance,
and serenity.

Pleasure overflowing to the ants,
deep,
deep,
in the empty of the stars,
who cannot see but the dull,
of eternity surround.

Breathing slow,
for the unanswered questions,
and the unquestioned answers,
that create a star so bright.
Being a instrument of the extraterrestrial night.
Lined perfect,
to ***** the blindness in elevation,
bid the truth of all whom felt the sensation.
Springing from these hands,
possible-
a true revelation?