More Brilliant Than The Sun

Corpses of the dead astronauts,

particles clumsily dividing

Absorbing the black mystery.

The satellites are spinning,

tracing erratical thoughts

There is no such thing as nothing.

Internal language bleeding

heading towards the abyss

The essence is turning into ghosts.

Signals from Pangaea

pronounce unintelligible answers

Lightyears are instantly disappearing.

The turbulence consenting

ominous new power

To delight the stars with destruction.

No more light projected

saintly images in isolationism.

Dripping into obsolete hesitation.

The seat of life occupied,

front row to absolute presence...