Is this light itself,
Or the death of time?
Not a nova, but a dwarf:
She's a vacuum, yet a light.
What's on the inside counts.
Though stellar and dark at once,
The inside is one with her,
So she is a woman inside.
She's a dead zone and frozen light outside,
Yet charmed and beloved are her eyes.
The bitter world drinks from her bright thoughts,
And it lives, at a rated change,
Through each protein fiber of her strings of hair.
Green are her brilliant killers,
And angelic are her and herself.
One are life and her,
For now, and forever, amen.
Poetry / People