free verse

A down-going

We are falling through an emptiness of our own making.
In the pitch-blackest hour of our nights
when all the stars have turned their backs
and the earth has forgotten why it needs to turn,
we will crouch on the far-side of the continents
and unravel all the tales we forgot to tell
and let the unspun strands slip into the
steady sunlight and burn
so that there will be nothing left but
the ashes of us – the charred remnants
of the humanity we once were.
We were the humanity who once spun all the strings
together into the chords holding the planets in place,
those lines that let us traverse the nights as tightrope walkers,
our toes grasping at the unwavering woven tales
of ourselves that kept us off the ground.

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