Startled by Existence

You’re like some great dead planet

Scarred by rifts, ruts and cracks, from all the mighty collisions

And knives in your back, still there’s ambrosia on you surface

And manna for the hungry, food for the beggar

the poor for your money…

There is argon and neon and fire in your hair.

Your blood is methane and ammonia

Your soul is tumult and despair

Still you will be brilliant, You will be brilliant

A reflection of the sun above

You will be brilliant, you will be brilliant,

Predestined for the sweet work of love

_{(Lyrics to one of the top ten songs in the history of the Universe; Sweet Work of Love – Terry Taylor}

They say

the Titan woman sleeps ---

albeit nervous

nearing dawn,

And all little valleys hunker up

lest she

roll

and crush them in her pleat.

But, when

TERRA towers up

to meet her Lord

Her skirt

of tarnished sequin

spread

alluvial across the plain ---

or draped across

curvaceous mountains,

covered in the sediment of centuries

Will rush up vertigo upon her rising form,

and all the little people, in their little cars

and factories

and nations

will fall into space

like old dry

grass.