Pulse (a poem)

Thursday, February 20, 2025

Boom—There I Am

Dim starlight—
a burning mass of power,
a flicker, nothing more.

A panorama of fire,
none look special.
A thousand infernos reduced to pinpricks,
silent, steady, spent
before the eye can care.

The frozen pixel twinkles,
powering whole systems like our own.
A pin of pure energy,
threading through history,
poking a hole in the nothing—
boom. There I am.

27 years, 7 minutes, 4 seconds—
a flicker, a breath, a century.
Time folds, bends, fractures.
A ripple through the fabric,
a slow birth, a quick death,
or maybe the same thing.

We are watching ourselves in reverse,
shadows retreat into light,
bullets unfired, wounds unmade,
words swallowed before they break.

Inception—
The first tremor of thought,
the seed in the dark,
the whisper before the wave.

The Three Stages—
Foundation. Illusion. Collapse.
We build, we dream, we fall.
Mind castles of sand,
crumbling before we know we’re inside them.

Time Polarity—
A pulse in two directions,
forwards, backwards,
the moment already passed,
the moment still waiting.
Entropy rewound, regrets undone—
or just relived in the opposite direction.

And beyond—
beyond crumbling, beyond waking,
beyond counting,
where time is no longer a measure,
just the weight of memory dissolving
into the great unseen,
a whisper locked away forever.

A whisper of love,
to make for this guilt
a burden no one should have had to bear.

The past and the future pull apart—
somewhere in between,
we wait for the end
that has already come.

No devil lived on.