Void

People are comforted when they look at the night skies.
Sailors and navigators depend on what they see,
the light that emanates from the darkness.
People find solace in the orbs of light,
in the golden beads that shatter the black hues
of the fabric of the universe. They feel a warmth spread,
sensing an unearthly, omnipresent entity watching over them--
smiling, protecting them from the shadows of the night.

The spheres seem to blink--like living, thriving bodies.
Their clouds of hair serpentine across the sky,
humanizing what is too large to absorb, to fathom.
Faces seem to look down on the face of humanity--
faces whose features are separated by light years
of distance. Faces whose features are composed of
burning, furious flames of heat--enough to destroy
a civilization, to annihilate life. The stars are powerful,
but deadly.

And yet, a galaxy of nothingness lies ahead,
suffocating us, compressing the earth.
Regardless of how comforting the night skies may appear,
we are looking at an empty chasm. A spiralling void.
A void of utter, asphyxiating silence that will never be lifted.
Because the universe is a vacuum; humanity is all alone.
When navigators stare up, basking in the heat of the stars,
they are only basking in the heat of the people around them--
they are staring at the unending void of the universe.

Phosphene

I can see stars--luminous, dancing stars,
with my eyes closed; where I expect to see
an obsidian void, I see a symphony of colored spheres,
or swirls surrounding a lustrous center.
When the sun shines too brightly, I let my eyelids drop,
little knowing that a harmony of glowing, amber hues
await, a disorienting sight--
little knowing that I can never escape the light.

I see galaxies in the sparkling swirls--faintly glowing
spirals against a darkened backdrop. Crimson clouds mingled
with blue remind me of nebulae, as do green slashes overlapping with
gold. Nomadic, spectral figurines--like canopies of
celestial dust, looming forward, their arms outstretched.
I see the sun in golden globes, Saturn in miniature discs
that envelope a revolving sphere,
while the darkness gives way like a cloth so sheer.

The view when my eyes are open is commonplace;
nothing captivating, alluring, romantic--
trees are green, the sky is pale, the ground rough and coarse.
But I can escape that--not by physically traveling,
but by letting my mind, my imagination take over my path.
By letting my eyelids fall, I am invulnerable--
for I can visit the realms and territories beyond the skies.
I can view the universe behind my eyes.

Falsity

Her face is golden, a pixie's glow,
a wide nose and pale eyes. Her face loosens into
a broad smile every time she sees me. Rather plump at first,
her physique seems to vacillate once she comes
closer. Her round fingers wave to me, loving and excited.
Her room is a miracle--it
shimmers and shines, curved edges.

Time is difficult, but I know it passes. As she grew older,
her expression would turn more tragic. I would swim
towards her, and she'd smile, her mouth
oddly distorted. One day, she picked up my bowl.
It was the first time I left the house, and ventured
into unknown, perilous waters.

She took me to the sea--a curved expanse of blue;
I felt something stir--my bowl shook slightly. She whispered
something incoherent, and tipped me into the churning waters.
And I saw her for the first time, free of the sphere of glass
that encircled me. Her face was different--not because it was
filled with tears. Something else--it no longer looked odd, but
beautiful. Her hair wasn't a shapeless mass of red--
it was in curls of beauty. The freckles on her face
changed their positions--miraculous, but true.

The sky and the sea are endless entities of blue--
no longer limited by arcs, but extending into infinity.
The earth is no longer a globe, but an inexhaustible realm.
The world is not what I thought it was; seven years later,
only the hues remain the same. The rest--vanished as quickly
as she did, abandoning me.
I've been living under the hood of deception, a petty prevarication. My reality
was never what hers was--she was never the plump, flat-nosed
girl I had grown up with. Her fingers are long, slender--they
wave to me right now, for the last time.
She walks away slowly, gracefully; not the clumsy pirouette
I had grown accustomed to.
I look about at my new home, devastated. She's not the girl
I thought she was... the world is nothing I'm familiar with.
I've been around for eight years, but I'm a newcomer,
inexperienced and disoriented, stranded in dangerous, unknown waters.
I don't blame her for leaving me; I blame her for leaving
me with nothing but emotions of betrayal.
My life has been a lie.