Muse upon sight

Laying on my back supine among the grass and rocks, I feel life give way to death every second. 

I look at the stars so impossibly far a mere shift in my weight may kill something that I did not acknowledge as there.

I lose myself within the sight of the turning black above my head, swimming in thoughts of what lies beyond any knowledge I could dig up. 

Would I or anyone understand the things that could be lurking beyond our minds capacity to replicate?

The disjointed pieces of flesh and bone, chitin and crystal, unknowns grafted to unknowns.

Eyes don’t come in rows, they come in waves, across inky nebulae and gas giants far from our sight.

We were made within this goldilocks zone of space. 

Not only was it just so perfect as to nurture life, but far enough away from the vast reaching horrors of the abyss that would sooner extinguish us with a simple shift of its weight.

Insignificance personified in every life brought crying into the world. 

Every belief that puts us at the center of some great plan.

We are merely a little thing upon a rock. Just so lucky that we didn’t get found yet.

I know the eyes I speak of. 

I see them in the sky when the stars flicker.

I can see the digits at the end of long chromatic tendrils that move through air as oil moves through water.

Splitting dimensions in two to feed on the sight of our fear; To feed on the bits of our flesh is hardly sustenance for the lesser of these beings. 

One million beings of unfathomable blight bring a soaring miasma across the cosmos, star to star; an exhalation of breath from a monumental titan of thought-twisting might.

As I lay here wondering about the coming jaws that have swallowed stars, crushed moons within their teeth. 

Do you worship such a thing, or fear it with every bit of your being? 

Do you end the life you hold sacred to forget the image of its sensory organs wrapping around earth, constricting and pulling apart cities without thought as it places it upon its tongue?

Not mere musings, I witness it in my dreams. 

Speaking to me in low grumbling tones of twelve planets grinding together within its throat.

I do not understand, nor would I define these things as words. More a horn of arrival, a thumping step of an idiot man walking across an ant hill. The precursor to something we can’t explain, for explaining it would kill us just the same.

I’ve seen white burning light from the cosmos—infinitely more consequential than anything tangible here—snuffed out in the abyss beyond thought.

We hurl towards the unthinkable maw of some great leviathan that drifts towards us in the dark, cold reaches of empty space.

I am excited to finally greet it.

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