The Skys Hand

And the blue giant rolled from the past, tumbling through the ages and the hearts of our rest. What it gave to those it touched was wanderlust and sea-hunger, but heaven borne and sky wonder.

Her smile pierced the clouds and she shone as she fell. The darkness too lived here and it was hungry, but also mindless. Somehow the horrifying is always mindless, perhaps because minds give such excellent excuses. Turning more the orchestra rings a crescendo to light the ages, the raw power of 100 billion megaton blasts each second rises serenely as a goddess to her morning bath.

The light wisps are motionless, yet they move when you don't look. Love teems endlessly. Brilliant and dangerous and kind and inert, and that between indeed, this is the drama and the boredom and the mundane and the shivers. The goddess unfurled and crashed her fist to the earth in her hate, and the next the torrents fed the dying grass, then washed away it's roots, then did so much more of contradiction. Because life is only when we are, and fairness nowhere much. It's love we love but truth be told we've made a kingdom of one thing on the sands of another. Mingling of the infinite is forbidden, but of course this means nothing.

We roll onwards forever and hope, besides all else uncertainty is something which much be experienced and cannot be conjectured