Comet | A Poem

It was comet
that lit the sky.
It ran, and ran, and ran,
but its motion couldn’t contain.

A comet in search of a planet,
but alas! it missed it again,
for a hundred years of solitude.

It was a comet
and so it flew,
words and worlds on fire.
But the people who looked up
they, barely knew.

It was a comet
and so are we,
maybe we will all collide some time.

It was a comet.
It was a comet.


What is writing for me? Perhaps a grasp of the world that I can’t understand, an imagination, an escape, a learning vortex. What is writing for me? A moment to understand the universe inside of me.

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