42,212 feet in the sky


Just letters that make up a sound projected through the sound of our voice

our mouth our lips.

No different you than mine

Your body, mine.

Eyes that are thankful to see the experience

the atoms

the molecules

that makes up the sky.

my camera

my fingers

my sight

the incredible silence and emptiness that fills up that space

a space that one cannot stay with for longer than a second

always grasping.

How to stay in a constant space, staying constant


Soulful and truth, let one appear to others as it forms thyself

the soul evaporates into the body when the body is weak.

Red, pink, green, ultramarine blue

dusted onto the sky with a brush

one cannot see the strokes or remnants of artifice or touch

it just is.

In a moments time it will pass, the colors will fad, the colors will change

the view will no longer be the same.

Change is part of the birth of the sky.

The Earth turns, the moon rotates, it replenishes the dust.

Time and time again

calculated so infinitely yet it’s all

so specific, so perfectly planned.

So symmetrical, so organized.

Apocalypse the bright sky never returns

and darkness is where we all die.




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