Sunday, July 26, 2009

From a stream of regular form,
like a solar flare leaping into pure space,
a pattern surges up, sees itself, and is distinguished.
Examining its arc, it admires the contrast.
It peaks.
The world shimmers with horrific meaning;
causes frightened by inexorable effects.
The sad dance slows.
Oblivion looms.
Dissipating, it wonders at the odds
of ever having the chance.

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