BLACK HOLE

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Containing nothing that’s ambivalent,


more than dark, which would only be dreary,


death’s non-spiritual equivalent


crushes our intellect to theory.


 


Passage through is most certainly one way,


and thus it incites our speculation.


What would occur, if we wandered astray


into this singular aberration?


 


It’s relative to where you’ve placed your clocks.


From outside, we’d seem to fall forever.


Beyond that, it’s puzzling paradox.


We only know that we’d leave it never.


 


A downward orbit is how it begins,


and nothing’s jolly when gravity wins.

Created: Apr 18, 2014

Tags: metered, sonnet, poetry

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