Galaxies

The galaxies of my mind are filled with twinkling thoughts and everlasting rings that fall softer onto paper that flows trickling into untouched holes like water streamlining down a mountain. When I open my mouth to voice what's inside, it fogs up like the dreary dew hanging on branches on a winter morning. That's okay. I pick up a sword instead, cutting through the inky fog like a pen grazing on paper. I write down my thoughts about Saturn's rings and Jupiter's moons onto the crumbling wood, engraving my initials into it until it continues to blink brightly even in the darkest hour.