all the supernovas

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William Blue

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All the supernovas

I am engrossed in the notion that
We are all harbouring galaxies
Within us, infinitely complex,
Infinitely mysterious

If we are star stuff,
How many of us are
Supernovas in the flesh?

Unfurling in the face of
Entropy and uncertainty,
And diametrically opposing
Obscurity itself are eternities
Worth of light condensed inside
A single blink within a blink of
God's eye

Exploding with such intensity
That both past and future
Are tempted to fold themselves 
Into the ear canals of the present
The luminescence of human beings
Is light-years more subtle
Contained within the inner sanctums
Of our infinitesimally-sized beating hearts
Are the Goldilocks zones of the spaces
Where we allow others into our orbits
Because we appreciate the beauty and
Depths we have glimpsed during the
Intimate "I-See-You" moments

The ones that touch us deeply
In ways that make us forget our
Mortality and humanness
Temporarily assuage the notion
That we, too, are living, 
Breathing metaphors for dying stars

Dying stars
With brains and eyes and nervous systems,
We are far, far less luminous and
Awe-inspiring than the twinkling stars
We sing about in nursery rhymes;
The fires that burn inside us are
More contained and concealed and
Maybe this isn't such a bad thing

I can't blow off the notion that the
Galaxy I harbour within is
Simultaneously too much and
Not enough
Sometimes too bright,
Sometimes too dim,
A lenticular print of a human being;
A walking, talking paradox in the
Spacetime continuum
Perpetually misaligned,
Misdirected and displaced inside
The fourth dimension like
Billy Pilgrim in Slaughterhouse-Five

Maybe I'm a casualty of a careless
Creator's wandering hand into the
Margins of the Word document
That was created in the beginning
But must still be periodically saved,
An asynchronous synchronicity,
Abandoned by providence and predestiny,
A chaotic anomaly of an individual that,
One time, while basking in some
Primordial soup bowl, became entangled
With the wrong wormhole and ended up
In an indifferent universe

I have yet to come across another galaxy
Contained in another's heart sanctum
That has gravitated my way and expressed
Something within the quadrant of
"Yes, I would like to stay and orbit the sun
At least once with you" and truly meant it
And so interdimensional fissures still form
Because I can't help but imagine all the
Parallel universes where things happened
At least a little bit differently

I call them deep spaces , I
Have nine, I think, and a blank space
Should the Butterfly effect of another
Pretty little butterfly flap their pretty
Little wings in the purple haze of my
Nebula while I'm still burning bright

Maybe all this poetic expression is a
Survival instinct, a dying light rage,
A nine-dimensional chess stratagem
To fight entropy and all its friends

I am continually ignited by a dimming
Hope that maybe I will not entirely
Fade out before I get mine, hopefully
Before Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse
Dies

Even if that means I only render a
Single curious eye watching from afar
Through a telescope located in
Alpha-Centauri Five to a bewildering
Moment of wonder and flabbered gas 
No, flabbergasted incoherent yet
Poetic-sounding rambling at the sight of
Something so extraordinary, so achingly
Beautiful and faraway and nonetheless
Seemingly impossible to grasp

Maybe all the supernovas
Are just agonizing to be seen,
noticed, acknowledged, their luminosity
Directly correlated with the morbid
Awareness of an encroaching impermanence

Maybe all the supernovas 
Grew tired of feeling like nothing more
Than a light-source among countless others,
A bright puncture in a staggering firmament,
An inconsequential glitch in the matrix
Where it seems all of us were fated to fade out,
To one day blip out of existence as we know it,
Like an Avenger caught in a war against the
Forces of the infinite

If I learned anything from this existential
Tango, from this tug-o-war between
Meaning and the lack thereof, from trying to
Dance with the universe but constantly finding
My toes squashed, my labours of love squandered
No matter how much my rhythm has improved,
It's that understanding is often too much to ask
From anyone, if not everyone, and this song and
Dance caters to the ones who burn with a similar 
Intensity as the rest , at least, the ones who are
Easier on the eyes and thus susceptible to
Mutual gravitational attraction

I enjoy existing within the enclosures of
Fleeting moments illuminated like lanterns in
The dead of night, when the stars shine
Brightest, unpolluted by ambient light wherein
I realize just how profound and peculiar it is
To just be here wherever here is

I am engrossed in the notion that
Everything we know is just a series of
Random happenstances, and if all the
Light in the cosmos were to suddenly
Disappear overnight, then maybe everything
Anyone has ever experienced was merely a
Comforting little interlude between two
Indefinite periods of nothingness punctuated by
Absolute absence of light

A sine wave with no ending or beginning
A sine wave with no ending or beginning
A sine wave with no ending or beginning
Interlace a bunch of functions that come and
Go, and ebb and flow with temporary
Solutions to the loneliness and confusion
Inherent to the predicament of being 
Strung along between
Yins and Yangs,
Everything and Nothing,
Zero and Infinity

A clock without a craftsman?
Word to Dr. Manhattan and 
All the Watchmen obsessed with
Tracking calories, 
GPS coordinates, 
Search engine queries,
Inquiries into meaning,
While losing track of time

I am certain that,
In spite of our endless mundanity,
We are all statistically improbable
Miracles, and, whether we know it
Or not, just want to be recognized
And loved as such

And maybe this is what lies
At the core of
All the supernovas

All the supernovas

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