The Poems Scatter Themselves

THE POEMS SCATTER THEMSELVES The poems scatter themselves Like stars through the distance- No one can understand the vast emptinesses in between The darknesses which will forever surround them. They too within themselves are burning and unstable Expanding and exploding before Contracting into their own ash-dark demise. The poems scatter themselves Like stars through the inner emptiness of a long life- Who knows where they will end up And what their ultimate destination will be? Intimate fires? little lights? great darknesses? Shapes of kindly beauty? What will you mean When the Lights go out forever?