are watching
galaxies being born
where the stars collapse upon themselves,
by punching through an antimatter barrier.
Dreamers see all that is released into the void,
the unknown possibilities of
matter becoming fact,
factual.
You do this
unconsciously without
interruption, you take what you know,
and on it bestow it’s own immortality.
It lives on forever gathering to itself
similar intentions, given their impetus
from entities, cheerleaders cheering,
throwing their weight on you. You
make it through.
You become,
a constellite dancing,
a meteoric glancing off lights,
themselves moving at speeds that
make time turn backwards.
But you heed that not, you’re gathering mass,
you forget you’ve deceased because
as your speed increased you
were reborn.
people think of dreams as insubstantial, and by extension, one who dreams. you've just unequivocally disproven it.
ReplyDeleteThat’s a nice comment. It may be better than the poem. I think it is. Thanks
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