The Press of Gravities

by kholinar

These;
they fade,
days sorely missed.

Occasions,
pages from an age
pummeled
by the galaxies
and displays of violence.
Arrays like hyacinth.

The darkened stain upon
a solar blaze
lost confidence
in context and
contrast.

Uncomforted
by forces
hiding in
the mass around
your core.

Radiance…
convection —
it’s all the same,
second place
to fusion.

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