I lie back, hands behind head
and stare up at the nights sky.
I try to count the infinite patchwork of stars,
trace the constellations with my fingers
and look at the moon framed with my hands.
It seems so strange that I, here, am bigger than these things.
For each star I see there is a hair on my head,
each constellation I could name and recognise a vein or artery,
and my hands could frame a thousand moons.
For the endless darkness, the undiscovered and black empty lightless space
there was the recess of my mind and the infinite possibilities of my
But up there, where all is theoretical and forces and where it really
matters I am nothing but half a flake of dust, a quarter grain of sand.
For each of the insignificant hairs of my body has a billion stars to it,
each unnoticeable vein and artery a thousand undiscovered constellations,
and my hands are but tiny shreds of meat on the Moons surface.
But the space of the universe and my mind are the same,
They are both infinite, eternal and never ending.
In both everything is possible, forces and theory can be made and unmade.
So I found solace in the darkness where I was the Universes equal
and I ignored the rest.
I will forever stay in this darkness.