Reading Olaf Stapledon's Star Maker
in the light of a plastic Christmas tree,
one that has lost much of its decorations
to cats felling it with the dedication
of loggers, yet still sparkles in blue,
green, red and pink light sprinkled
like nebulae on the spiral arms
of the Milky Way, I'm in that
ambiguous mood of mine, where
curious wonder and abject ennui share
the mind with a polite nod to each other;
our fate to live in such a universe
of marvels he transcribed, yet
also one where minds like his,
that briefly reach for understanding
of the cosmos and our destiny alike,
grabbing some morsel of knowledge,
in the end fall like Christmas trees at
the touch of blind, uncaring forces.
30.12.2022
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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