Academic Mayhem
We gather,
silent as the tide. A ritual
from the marrow of time,
calling upon meaning
deeper than flesh.
We hold hands, forming
a fragile circle, breathing
in the universal pulse. The sea
murmurs a heartbeat,
each ripple a prayer.
Our questions curl like smoke
to the cosmos, chanting
old words, Sun and Moon,
their silent gaze upon us.
Eyes closed, we feel
Earth’s slow spin, a collective
hymn, a plea: the fire that warms
our souls, a beacon
in the nebulous night.
We lean into the edge of the unknown,
our faith hung like a constellation,
believing
we are part of something
grand, eternal.
Gravity of Being
I. The Wanderer
A brilliant bandit
cases the Milky Way
in a silent, sweeping orbit.
Gravity’s fingers tease
the ancient motion,
each turn a spiral thread
around the bolt of the cosmos.
II. The Bracelet
Time spirals around,
every second wrapping
a bead in its loop,
ornately bound by dark
matter. We wear it like a wound,
each day of our lives strung
to the universal grind.
III. The Embrace
The sun strings its trail, a rail
of light stamped into black ink,
a fading signature
on the document of space.
Gravity, that silent scribe,
draws closer the enclosure
of the heart,
a descent to inevitability.
Beneath our feet, Earth spins,
echoes of stardust and shadow,
its quiet calligraphy written
by the revolution of stars,
squeezed tight by the galaxy’s
demanding arms.
I. The Wanderer
A brilliant bandit
cases the Milky Way
in a silent, sweeping orbit.
Gravity’s fingers tease
the ancient motion,
each turn a spiral thread
around the bolt of the cosmos.
II. The Bracelet
Time spirals around,
every second wrapping
a bead in its loop,
ornately bound by dark
matter. We wear it like a wound,
each day of our lives strung
to the universal grind.
III. The Embrace
The sun strings its trail, a rail
of light stamped into black ink,
a fading signature
on the document of space.
Gravity, that silent scribe,
draws closer the enclosure
of the heart,
a descent to inevitability.
Beneath our feet, Earth spins,
echoes of stardust and shadow,
its quiet calligraphy written
by the revolution of stars,
squeezed tight by the galaxy’s
demanding arms.