A poem about event horizions
Let's remember a moment our first memory. A blur of color and light.
Mine is orange and looked like a fridge.
--
Once there was a wave of sound that played from your fingers and it never stopped waving. That sound, even if the both of us never hear it again, will continue to fly through the atmosphere into the stars for an eternity...
Or until it finds the edge of the universe.
Whichever comes first I suppose.
Maybe it will fly until it is
Seduced by that dark event horizon
But then again maybe not
According to Mr. Hawking,
Those don't actually exist.
Like Pluto.
(Not to say Pluto doesn't exist... You know what I mean.)
Seduced by that dark event horizon
But then again maybe not
According to Mr. Hawking,
Those don't actually exist.
Like Pluto.
(Not to say Pluto doesn't exist... You know what I mean.)
The event horizon is something like a goodbye.
Inhaling light and sound and memories
And we still can't find where they've gone.
