I hear the tone of a thousand galaxies. Only sweet angels shed whimsical tears

    Some thoughts form bubbles in the mind, and with a pop, they are gone. Prancing further and further from the fingertips of those who wish to comprehend them.

      They still their breaths and try as they might, halt their lungs but thoughts are fickle things that only come when one does not call for them. This mind experiences assorted thoughts, some plunge like rain from the sky, rapidly and frigid, with no notions of passing by.

While others are sweet and delicate murmurs, some thoughts hold nothing but lie full of animosity and self-hatred, there are those few certainties that cling to our senses like moist cloth on heated summer days.

       And there is a singular truth that none can deny. Through these sights, soaring belts of asteroids and the birth of newly hatched nebulas can be seen.

     For these gazes see freshly pickled specks of lights dispersed across the realms and heed the sounds of a thousand galaxies.

And in these galaxies, holds dust and nothingness