by Nathaniel Charles
It hangs,
Cold light
searching, seeking.
And its light
finds earth,
Intricate and
voiceless in the void.
Chaos fractures
rock at its core,
And it breaks.
Its denizens
appear to pass away.
But one or two
remain,
Light drifting
coolly across them
As it waits for
complexity.
It waits a
while,
Hanging there
While complexity
is built,
Cell
By
Cell
Yet amounts to
nothing.
For staring up
The hollow
complexity
Sees nothing,
Not the light.
And so,
It hangs,
Searching for
another complexity.
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