Pregnant mama We try to be that celestial body - Without a system to bind us
As we expand in darkness - Moving at the speed of light
Or standing still in the warm sand - Separate from all gravitations
Of people, things or places that stop our flow - From our immense need to spin
And twirl and speed past all things - With arms flung wide apart
As we do not even come close - To touching another mind or soul
Or body that may slow our born-ness - Or that constant need for self-fulfillment
Without space or time or soul or family – To corrupt who we were
Meant to be before so many fell into our orbit – Like too many moons
Our inertia is no longer ours – But pulled by the many.
But what of the child that falls - To cancer at our feet.
The emaciated elder who needs - More than food, needs a hug.
The death of another, another, another – As we lift off
In space-time - To find the location needed until
We again become the center - Of a psychic black hole
A collapsing star - Finally a singularity - We fade away.
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