I am the death you cannot see

when you gaze upon your starry skies.
Your telescopes, they lie to you
when they show a cosmos glittering
with a million fiery gems;
I lurk unseen between those sparks,
swelling, growing larger and smarter
with every sun I swallow whole.

I’ve grown tired of passive fare;
worlds and stars and dust,
all spiral to my maw
with no effort, just the force
of my immense dark gravity.  I want
prey that thinks itself a predator,
a victim that will find its way to me
carried on the silver wings of mortal pride,
prey that fights and feels the terror of my bite.

I know you’ll fly to me; babies can’t resist
the shiny, pretty things, reaching for a bauble
lying near the snake, grasping at the flame
that burns soft flesh. You’ll try for worlds
to replace the one you broke
and when you come I’ll crush you
to my frozen breast and take you to my heart
of darkness, and your pain will keep me warm.

I am the death you cannot see.

I am all you cannot bear
to know about your universe,
because to know that I am real
is to know there’s no escape
from this, your fragile world,
your tiny azure ember burning down
in the cold of an endless night.


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