Pilgrim Soul

Pilgrim Soul

Stars scream in x-ray cries,
as black holes rip out their heart and they die.
Spinning flattened around a hole,
their remains cry in d sharp.

Oh, how lovely looks that harp,
strung in a circle around a dark black hole.
Why would worlds end in such an awful manner,
but from a distance with such beauty?

Oh, I wander the light mystic,
and see things no human can ever know.
I am a sprite of the imagination.
I am a drop of Universe, I am a pilgrim soul.

Christopher H. Holte

More poetry at: http://fraughtwithperil.com/cholte/