Some rare nights
When I think of the world
The fabric of space and time
Just splits the swirly smog
It is for some seconds
Through the cloak of darkness
Before dawn
In the painted knit of jet black skies
I can see the diamonds of the night
Like people on empty streets
They are scattered
I wonder, lonely stones come from where
They seem to belong to me
No one shares the same stars as I (except a poet)
Yet, they choose to be in the coldest nights
When I think of your cold glare
Except, diamonds are forever
You're the scientist
Who taught me this
Through heartbreak
That a ball of gas
Which is million miles away
From our living world
Is already dead, is only alive as an afterimage
All we have is our love poetry
People are now eternally in the present
That is why some of us are poets
Because we live in the past like dying stars and write
How do you like this play on words? Trop romantique?
They say, if you are attached to the past, you die a little everyday.
