And thus …
An indefinite singularity of imagination
Ripped through a lifeless pure black paltry,
To spew its cosmic gametes
Into a womb named time.
This alpha …
Of original realities to futures yet to be
Postulating inescapable apocalyptic illusory,
And unfolding the creativeness
Of consciousness itself.
So now …
Multiples of tomorrows upon tomorrows
Pollute the perfections of vast nothingness,
Leaving only globules of solar waste
Where there alone, is man!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem