When I was born, the Cosmos was young.
It’s exponential growth had scarcely begun.
As an infant, I learned to always ask, “Why?”
And the universe expanded with each reply.
Across the island of knowledge I began to crawl
And found not an edge or end, but endless sprawl.
Until, I heard something I knew was absurd.
Even though people called scientists avidly concurred
That the Cosmos was finite and several billion years old,
Who were they to limit what my universe could hold?
When, contrary to the revered “intellectuals’” thinking,
Visceral evidence told me, the Cosmos was shrinking.
And changing its age and remaking its frame
Into the young girl from the train that gave me her name.
Then suddenly it rebounded and was a bliss without time
Full of youth, and love, and picnics with red wine.
But reality returned as the Cosmos transformed
When, through heat and passion, two twinkling stars formed.
For years the Cosmos was delighted, in its pair of lights,
Let time flow as normal, only occasionally taking flight.
I watched, content, as my stars learned to ask, “Why?”,
And knew their Cosmos would be even better than mine.
And at last I thought I’d found every sprawling answer,
Until Chaos derailed my commute, that night in November.
The gentle stream of time is gone (if it ever existed),
And the Cosmos lay sprawled in the dirt, cold and twisted.
And all that I cherished as pure and profound
Now fits in my box, six feet under ground.
Thank you very much for reading. Please let me know what you thought.
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