TRACES SPRING 2016 - Page 7

Space \

When I think about space, I imagine,

A black void, much like someone spilled black paint.

To try to find the end of it, a sin,

Imagining what lies beyond, I faint.

The paint, covered in glitter and color,

Every spot is a different galaxy.

A free place, not held down by a ruler,

The paint is truly a sight to see.

We are merely a speck in that large void,

Surrounded by what we know nothing of,

To capture that thought in a polaroid,

With that image, I would fall in love.

Shelby Jo Bradybaugh

Such a magnificently painted place,

What is it you see as the end of space?


Bright balls of gas gleaming in the sky,

Millions of miles away from Earth.

The perfect nighttime lullaby twinkling in the mind’s eye,

Providing a sense of rebirth.

Seen throughout the whole galaxy,

yet untouchable.

It’s a true tragedy --

Most are discoverable.

Hidden by city lights,

and the sun.

Debuting colors of blue, red, yellow and white,

Maybe they are past loved ones?

Departed to the other side,

Present to be a guide.

Sarah Milliron