by Nathaniel Charles
It hangs,
Cold light searching, seeking.
And its light finds earth,
Intricate and voiceless in the void.
Chaos fractures rock at its core,
And it breaks.
Its denizens appear to pass away.
But one or two remain,
Light drifting coolly across them
As it waits for complexity.
It waits a while,
Hanging there
While complexity is built,
Cell
By
Cell
Yet amounts to nothing.
For staring up
The hollow complexity
Sees nothing,
Not the light.
And so,
It hangs,
Searching for another complexity.
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