From the deeper recesses of my brain,
I call forth whole worlds,
Whose births are unto galaxies,
From the tongue and fingertips.
They are bright spatial plains I create.

Then comes my magnificent creations,
Around which others revolve
Without knowing what compels them.
I attract.

Even though the gravity
Of producing pulls within my bones
I grow tired,
Listening to whispers similar
To that of a black hole,
Sometimes I rest,
Satiated by someone else’s food,
But the meal is empty.

I still carry on.
Whenever it fails
To elicit any interest from me
In isolation,
I move forward on the path
As impenetrable as a diamond.

What else is there for me
Except dying or creating?
I offer my own interpretation of the universe
Singing into the vast emptiness.

Filed under: 🜃 Infinite – exploring the unseen forces behind creation, truth, and existence.