Space is where we put Utopias.
Where Paradise Lost, was first in space.
Where else can hope, for better there-after, be put?
In the mirror, I see myself in space,
over there, where I am not, cack-handed.
My shadow tails me every where,
bending my space-time dimensions
with guilt and dark matter.
The cemetery is space-in-common,
for tombstone pyramids with tickets
in time-capsules to after-life in space.
Space is a mesmerising conundrum!
A vacuum never ever filled to continuum.
A waste of space for storing
dream-catchers caught napping.
Nothing to lose if lost.
Imagine?