I've seen the stars, the vacant space of nothingness in the presence of everything, and the way it moves and contracts, retracts, pulls back, and how it gazes down on me as I lay my back against the moon. The intergalactic space track, a cassette tape to the soul, plays it's mellow tune; a slight Twelve Kilohertz buzz of the sound that nothing makes when you're silently waiting for nothing to make it's sound again. The weightlessness of the gravity, where giant beams of steel feel like child's toys and feathers feel as light as they always have, lifts me up. It feels as though each gasp for the surreal oxygen could send me off to earth, as my lungs expand and the warmth of each breath pull me off my back like a Hot Air Balloon.

I'm floating up, towards what telescopes and brainiacs call the distant future, in the midst of abyssal protrusion and the place where sound waves and light take off their chains and walk free from their duties. It seems as though this debauchery is more than just the wake of a new beginning, as it is the end to something that hasn't happened yet. A wasteful expenditure, or dissipation if you will, has been taken into account when looking into this happening. I've taken off from the moon to reality, though at a cost of my own equilibrium, however with a slight accustomed nod of the head I've found myself swaying and swooning to the galactic space waves, between once upon a time and this time is now.

I am lifted in space, floating towards the earth as I drift by satellites and space ships. I can see the every day people as they head to work and drive their cars and pull their ropes and push their buttons. They are little specks of nothing, scurrying across the land they live by, all the way to their little ticky tacky houses. A simple breeze could meander across the earthen crust and each and ever speck would be swooped out from their houses and jobs and lives, and then there would be nothing, as nothing was seconds before.

I am floating in space, just minutes from hitting the O-Zone's corruption and pollution, as I break into the thick smug, an intrusion into gravitational pull. It's seen through the ages, that falling down is not the hardest part when looking into the future's anticipation. The truth is, falling down is not as hard as knowing the earth you are about to hit is still so far away. I'm watching the earth and the people as I fall to the floor. It's as though I'm in slow motion, and everything that is happening is black and white, on a paper back flip book being flipped too slow. I can hear the pages as they turn and scrape against the dead skin celled finger. Each ripple of the finger print's groove touch the edge of the paper, and the page collides with the next.

The earth is waiting for me to smash into it's outer shell; it's watching me with it's gaze. A hundred million eyes follow my body, as my clothes rip and tear off and my skin heats up, and with my eyes shut I make my descent. I press out of the clouds with a trail of white fluff leading my stale body towards the planet. I'm seconds from impact, however a life time of eternity from hitting the earth. I wrap my arms around my chest and close my legs straight, and with my head first I fall. Falling and falling and falling; waiting for reality.

Nobody's replied, but I don't want you to think that this piece wasn't appreciated so I'll start it off.

Lovely imagery, and a good "plot". Perhaps a bit abstract, but that's the point, eh?

A very good thinking piece.

It's about love. I use the moon as being in love, because I had wrote about the moon before (talking about love). I then go on about falling to earth but not ever hitting it, because falling from something so deep takes a long time and it seems as if you will never get over it.

was that a poem?

I read it through it sounds very deep. Unfortunately I am not very well versed in poetry/literary works to give a good critique, but keep up the good work!

I don't know if I'd consider it poetry myself
It's just the way I like to write lol.

Although, come to think of it, it does feel a lot like poetry.