A star stops. And the black hole implodes in a dense mass of darkness.
Its event horizon is brilliant, invites awe (What looks like coral is, surprize!--carnivorous fish!).
Inside, all that is stretched speeds incomprehensibly into the future singularity.
6 comments:
This I know--if all men should take their trouble to market to barter with their neighbors, not one, when he had seen the troubles of other men, but would be glad to carry his own home again.
Herodotus
Assume a virtue, if you have it not!
Shakespeare--Hamlet
What does not destroy me, makes me stronger.
Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche
Winter is in my head, but spring is in my heart.
Victor Hugo
I am the Master of my fate,
I am the Captain of my soul.
William Ernest Henley
For Thee:
Whence, thy troubled heart
Be darkened and dreary.
Whence, all hope seems lost
And thy soul be weary.
Think not, of thy sorrow,
Think not, of thy plight.
Cast thine eyes, toward others,
Though, may it, sound trite.
Seek one, whose misfortune,
May exceed, even thine.
Helping hand, then do, lend them,
True JOY, will thy find!
For those moments, few,
You'll think not, of thy grief.
Though, this respite, be short,
'tis a welcomed relief.
Whence, helps thee, another,
Pays it, double, in wealth.
Needy stranger receives,
So, too, does thy SELF!
Foregoing one's ego
To help others in need--
Tis a noble endeavour
And rewarding indeed!
Tho such altruist acts
That, in good faith, one makes
May prove futile when takers
Indulge in their take.
The same good instinct
That propels one to give
May be oft times abused--
Tis a harsh way to live!
Tis common, this trait,
To the female sex,
As well as the male--
More than one might expect!
As when a mother gives breast
To appease a babe's thirst,
Tis essential the mother
Is well-nurtured first.
And when a man has gone lengths
As to out-gain his brother, finds
He has lived the vicarious
Life of his mother!
Thus, when a poor soul approaches
Clad in rags or clean attire,
And moans as he tells
Of his days that are dire,
One shall find that one's pockets
Are empty of boons,
Till one serves as scholar
To one's own wounds.
Pleasant Day M'Lady,
To thee, have I sent out, this very morning, 1,000,000 casks of fresh spring water. To pour into thy glass, half empty!
As always, your last, was a wonderful opus....at least, in the technical aspect. How is it, thy can find darkness, in the brightest of my attempts? Wouldst I, win the Tournament, thou couldst find a chink.
Were I, to paint a masterpiece, thou wouldst rail on my tint....
Hmmmm....Why, No! But one thing have I found, thy can find no deficiency! That be, my feelings toward thee....
Sweet flower from the garden
Sweet bird upon the fly
Sweet lovely, fair maiden
Sweet apple of thine eye
Feisty are thee, I liketh that trait.
Yet, one of these morns, of this, I can't wait,
Thou will jump from thy bed, bathed in sunshine and glee.
The only one happier than thee,
shall be me!
Might I jump out of bed, would a squirrel be amok under my sheets and biteth my toe! Or if alarms blareth out in the streets!
And in such cases, bathed in sunlight I may be but not gleeful.
While adept to imagine a more pleasant awakening (My Romantic spirit--tis blatant, no?), no power have I o'er such an event.
And my glass' content proves content at the median, give or take a sip.
Thy last retort, doth border on the silly!
Excellent! Silly, often appears, just before a smile. I do believe, thou were smiling, whence, thy wrote that.
Yes, a dove I sent, as spy, hath returned. Indeed, a smile did adorn thy visage. Eureka!!
A small victory, but a victory, nonetheless.
Lest, of course, it be me, on thy toe, a nibbling. Whereupon, glee and sunshine, would most certainly be forecast! Squirrelly, I have been known, to be.
Thy glass considered at the median, be better than, the half empty. So, progress, do we make!
Yet, another day closer to the spring thaw!
Thou art stunning in thy Winter's face.
Spring's welcome, shall prove thee devastating, upon mortal eyes!
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