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.