COMET

I am a blind aggregate of rock, dust, and ice groping in my eccentric orbit.

I have no individuality.
I am identified by the way i worship the Sun.

I am revealed to the world, and to myself, only when the Sun blesses me.
To the world, i am ill omen.
To me, discovering myself is a marvel, a pain, a cleansing.

I am an aggregate of rock, dust, and ice.
The rocks are my grossness, my inertia.
I am none of the grave planets, promising life.
I am none of the brilliant stars that are the Pride of the Heavens, or beacon to the forlorn wayfarer.

I am an aggregate of rock, dust, and ice.
The dust is my fragility, my vulnerability.
My vulnerability is my essence.

I am an aggregate of rock, dust, and ice.
The ice is my remoteness, my insulation.
It enshrouds the dust, and no one ever knows about it.

I am not obliged to the perspective of the world; it finds in me no consistency.
I have my own rhythm that transcends all reckoning.

I need not belong to any coterie around the Sun.
We have a rendezvous.

I seek nothing.
I am already fulfilled.

And when the Sun does bless me, the ice melts. The dust, the mortal specks, is set free.
Every iota of my existence is ablaze with effulgence of a thousand auroras.
That is the Celebration of my Being.

The igneous glory burns all the dross.
I am born anew.
That is my Resurrection.

Then I efface into the concentrated darkness.
Darkness is not gloom.
Away from all glitter, i quietly absorb all the rays in the Universe.

Oblivion is not the end. It is the self preserving hibernation.
Cecity to the World unfolds to me my deepest dreams.
That is the silent prayer of my creativity.