Post by AquarianM on Aug 6, 2013 21:46:37 GMT -5
In A Universe Of Extremes...
Deep in the far cold dark is a jumble of stardust,
Tumbling endlessly through bejeweled night,
A mish-mosh from the dawn of time,
Spinning around a little yellow star every century or five,
A vast oblong circle of a dance.
Every now and then a couple of these cold things rumble,
Smacked like a mushy billiard ball,
The pieces fly off any which direction.
Ison is heading for the sun,
And we dust-spects in atomternity are about to get a major show,
Come this Autumn the leaves will have a bright companion in the night,
As Luna has one of her flings with another being of brightness,
And the stars all play voyeur just like we will.
Still,
Just next week,
The Perseids peak,
Hot rocks screaming down toward mother Earth,
Trying to penetrate some atmosphere,
At 50,000 miles per hour,
Only the really big boys don't burn out in a brief flash,
Molten and then nothing.
Every now and then a couple of these cold things rumble,
Smacked like a mushy billiard ball,
The pieces fly off any which direction.
What I wonder of are the rocks we haven't seen yet,
Little know-it-alls that we like to think we are.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/06/2013
Deep in the far cold dark is a jumble of stardust,
Tumbling endlessly through bejeweled night,
A mish-mosh from the dawn of time,
Spinning around a little yellow star every century or five,
A vast oblong circle of a dance.
Every now and then a couple of these cold things rumble,
Smacked like a mushy billiard ball,
The pieces fly off any which direction.
Ison is heading for the sun,
And we dust-spects in atomternity are about to get a major show,
Come this Autumn the leaves will have a bright companion in the night,
As Luna has one of her flings with another being of brightness,
And the stars all play voyeur just like we will.
Still,
Just next week,
The Perseids peak,
Hot rocks screaming down toward mother Earth,
Trying to penetrate some atmosphere,
At 50,000 miles per hour,
Only the really big boys don't burn out in a brief flash,
Molten and then nothing.
Every now and then a couple of these cold things rumble,
Smacked like a mushy billiard ball,
The pieces fly off any which direction.
What I wonder of are the rocks we haven't seen yet,
Little know-it-alls that we like to think we are.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/06/2013