When Worlds Collide

Planets collide at the whim
Of even the lesser gods

The working class gods
The young and obnoxious gods
Stalking about in their cheap suits
Fondling soft pack cigarettes
Preening and boasting
No better than
Peacocks at a lawn party

And like all gods
They have an appetite for destruction
Petty and proud
Resentful
Jealous
Frequently vicious
They compete without end

To kill an eternity of time
They toy with this shabby astral plane
With its puny suns
Its dingy celestial bodies
While out there on the dark far fringes
The voracious black holes yawn

By skill
Or by will
By cheat
Or by chance

The gods angle for control
As each planet
In its fashion
Spins its last and vanishes
to the jeers and laughter
of these dime store deities
These two bit tyrants

Each orb, in its turn
Falls under their jealous eye
Each in its turn must meet
Its singular catastrophe
Its careless annihilation

Once again
The gods slouch
Towards a new Eden
To reenact creation

Once again the last black planet
Aligns with the last black hole

🎱
Corner pocket