Tell him to seek the stars and he will kill himself with climbing.” — Charles Bukowski
The larger the star, they say, the shorter its life.
Should I then pursue those luminous points?
Gods sure to collapse before I match their height.
They seem so close,
an arm’s length,
a stone’s throw,
A day’s climb to heaven.
The lie, that I might touch their incandescence,
When the brightest Super Nova will outshine a galaxy.
Born and dying in clouds of dust,
Dazzling in their mortality.
And doomed in ruin so powerful,
That none escape their gravity.
I’ll risk my reach and seek the universe.
Tell Chuck I might not fly but I will not fall.