Poetry: Presumption of Space

 

Astronaut-in-space

I stumbled into the sharpened edge
of existence
presumption was ribbonned
and I spilled across the barrier
into truth.

I floated
and tumbled
face to face
with vivid crisp
blackened space
a refugee astronaut
of the human race…

Look far enough into a microscope
and you’ll see
what they see
through a telescope…
it’s all Mandelbrot and Escher
paradox and helix.

The top starts at the bottom,
go far enough to the left
and you’ve begun going right.

There is a thief
buying your silences
sliding you bribes
offering condolences…
to “keep looking the other way”.

Behind all this thievery,
this science
and verbosity
spoken through my spacesuit…
is all that matters.
And even if you think it isn’t behind
everything
it still exists.

The end of love will never be glimpsed.
The way you loved him or her
will never be undone.
Always will it radiate
macro and micro
through presumption and order
cutting through frenzied chaos…
Love is the photon
that passed through all that mattered
to you,
and all that didn’t.

It all means something to someone.

Love isn’t a religion.
It is more like a God
that allows for atheists
so that someone can love
believing that Love
isn’t real.

Just love.

Because even when you see
the unstruck match and the smoldering cinder
at the same time
and
after comes before “before”
and it is as honest and true
as linear
love is still the constant.

Love is the grounding rod of existence,
the tether line of humanity anchoring us to the purpose
of being human…

 

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About skymeetingtheground

Healer, poet, author, yogi, single father...outdoorsy guy.
This entry was posted in Essay, Meditations, Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Poetry: Presumption of Space

  1. tealas says:

    Now I feel like Nidagha *and* Ribhu

    Like

  2. Charlie, this is my favorite poem yet. I “love” it!
    “Love isn’t a religion.
    It is more like a God
    that allows for atheists
    so that someone can love
    believing that Love
    isn’t real.”
    I’ve often thought that. Love loves us so much that it lets us be free to think we are not love. Crazy. Human. Love.

    Like

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