When a star dies.

[kingfresh512]

We spout worRAB wastefully
indulging in our apparent
gifts, in our unique appearance.
When in reality it is apparent,
that we are of little consequence.
One death here, calamity. One sun
shatters
over there and perhaps a billion
or p'raps a trillion lives
are stamped out as if some
cruel thug is battering the
orange red spark out of
his filthy cigarette, with his
horrid smutty weathered
leather heel.

When a star dies, it enforces
the truth. The truth that we,
on the whole, are of little consequence.
Collapsing star stuff bruising itself
back into the singular point
from whence it likely came.
Coming down upon itself
like the drunken fool
bearing down, on his lonesome
gawdy wife, with fists not of alcoholic rage,
but utter and total helplessness.
These are the fists of knowing,
knowing that he is but a spec, a blip, no.
He is nothing.

He will be nothing when the cosmos comes calling,
to claim his ugly soul.





m+w

 

[berrianbomb]

this is good.

i really like the second half of the first stanza.

some parts come off as if you're simply explaining things to the reader which i know for a fact can be off putting to a reader because i often tend to it with my poems as well. i felt that the most with the beginning of the second stanza. you still definitely make it work, but it goes in a somewhat uncomfortable contrast with the two metaphors that sit either side of it.

awesome work, nonetheless