MEteor (poem)

4.6-billion-year-old starry sages,

the infinitude of the universe their stage.

a human gazing at the stars that he, too, is a part of

---

This poem was actually inspired by a fumble in my speech, which happens a lot because I tend to talk very fast, especially when I'm excited. Anyway, I don't remember what I was trying to say, but what came out of my mouth was "I don't think I could ever be a... comet." The result of that mishap was this cosmic poem. Who else feels kinship with the stars? ☄️

---

I don't think I could ever be a comet;

they're far too brave—

but I'd like to at least try to pave

a halfmoon-path in deep space,

my afterglow a beacon to my comrades,

my beam so bright

that it doesn't even occur to me

to be afraid of the dark

more vast than my starry parts.

But I'm brave too

sometimes,

so why can't I become one?

Isn't the iron in my blood

the same iron found in its core?

Isn't the water in this body

the H₂O that comprises its icy exterior?

Don't these bones hold the same calcium

present in its cometary dust?

Maybe I already was

but grew tired of sailing the high celestial seas

and yearned to be human

to create beaming beacons in a different way,

so I fell out of the sky

to give it a try.

Maybe we all already were...

a gif of astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson saying, "You, me, everyone... We are made of star stuff."