PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There is no center to seek, and therefore no heart - yet, the universe decays. Separate from all that it does or may contain, theoretically; it is shaven down to ephemeral bits by the strains of its impurity and the demands of its many denizens and constructs. It encompasses too much to be razed by any force made possible by thought. Providence had no part in its conception and therefore had no part in the whole of what's known to be true. But such points are rendered moot by the layman's inability to observe that which acts as its enclosure. All are laymen.

Some housed comfortably by their universe seek the novelty of its collapse, while others of a different inkling are gleefully caged by thoughts of the eternal -- to see the sky rupture would be to surrender to uncertainty. Many still can only think to seek shelter within the original shelter, that which slowly succumbs. Regardless of their affectations their voices still clamor and build, turning to rippling sonic waves that scatter and disperse throughout the impartial and earless expanse about which they claim an intimate understanding.

What spirals form from their rhetoric are suddenly uncoiled by a whining in the distance. The laymen scour their terrestrial buoy, at first competitively and then in reluctant cooperation, and find no source to consider. Swells of panic begin their inevitable rise, despite none knowing the significance of the sound. What fleeting shards; forcibly pulled from a once-stagnant atmosphere and fallen to ground, are then drawn up and away from the one chatty, crowded mud ball in the universe. Inhabitants watch them go before growing short of breath.

Far into the windless distance there has come to exist a pinhole. It acts as an unconscious agent of the neighboring universe. As it draws upon the time and space with which men have grown intimate, it emits a wholly familiar, yet inhuman cry. They who have been left without sanctuary are not afforded the luxury of death. Instead they are broken down before being forced to join the ethereal caravan that's been coaxed into marching upon the doors of the adjacent realm. Like a mottled breeze, they glide on solar winds toward whatever vacancy may await. Their awareness could not be taken along with them.