We are floating and some call it flying but really it’s continuous falling

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the realm of a dying star

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

we revolve around.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orbit

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

constantly falling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Fast enough

 

 

to avoid crashing

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


But too slow

 

to escape

 

the pull of gravity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Stuck in

 

a regular

 

 

repeating

 

 

 

 

path around.

 

 

 

A circle.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A revolution.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Disaster

 

 

 

means

 

 

"bad star."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just like how

 

 

a snowball

 

 

turns

 

 

 

 

into an

 

 

 

avalanche.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A small

 

rocky

 

body

 

takes out

 

 

 

a species.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From that belt,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

between

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mars and Jupiter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gods of

 

 

 

War and State.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Watching

 

 

men

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

celebrate

 

murder

 

 

 

 

 

 

their words smell like farts