Core

rough draft about the death of a star in comparison to an enraged human being.

CORE

Eating souls,

The unknown,

Surprises are the cracks of space,

but keep a positive mind,

What good would these atoms be

if they stood a star to never become a sun?

REBIRTH.

RECYCLE.

REVIVE. (x3)

MADE OF DEAD STARS,

STILL BURNING BRIGHT,

MADE TO CYCLE,

MADE TO THRIVE.

MAKE THIS LIFE. STAY ALIVE.  

The sore is the core, 

And how the sickness has grown.

Like the death of a star,

From galaxies a far,

When will I burn out?

The sore is the core,

with a  Red Giant in sight,

engulfing all with years of light,

This distance takes minutes to brighten the night.

Reviews

[Philip Muls]

Well done ! Very strong ending particularly. Your parallel with an angry person is a strong backbone to this poem.