Lines and lines.
Poetry.
Mark.
In silent room where light is softly thrown, A solitary figure finds her peace, Among the pages, where the seeds are sown Of distant worlds, where every worry ceases.
The spine cracks gently, whispers tales untold, Each word a step on paths that wind and bend, In solitude, her heart dares to be bold, As through the printed words, she finds a friend.
Around her, walls dissolve, and time does bend, In stories, finds she solace, love, and fight, Each character a companion, foe, or friend, With whom she travels far into the night.
Alone, yet not in loneliness, she reads, In every page, she plants her dreams like seeds.
One.
In quiet rooms where shadows softly play, A solitary soul does gently tread, Among the echoes of the fled day, Where whispers of the past are softly said.
The clock ticks on, a steady, lonesome sound, A heartbeat in a chest that's tight with sighs, In every corner, solitude is found, Beneath the vast, indifferent, empty skies.
Yet in this loneliness, a beauty lies, A space to breathe, to think, to simply be, A moment caught between the earth and skies, In solitude, a soul might find the key.
For though the heart might ache and yearn for more, In loneliness, we find what we're searching for.
The Transit of Mercury.
In the grand assembly of celestial spheres, Where planets dance in orbits wide and clear, A spectacle unfolds so rare and fine— The transit of Mercury 'cross the sun's bright line.
This tiny orb, a messenger of gods, On its swift wings, the heavens it boldly trods, Against the sun, a silhouette so slight, A fleeting shadow in the sea of light.
The astronomers, with telescopes in hand, Gather in numbers across the land, To witness this event so rare and grand, A moment when the cosmos seems so planned.
The sun, a fiery monarch in the sky, Unmoved, it watches Mercury pass by, A reminder of the order in the stars, A clockwork universe, where time leaves no scars.
For those who watch, a sense of awe descends, As human strife and cosmic order blends, The transit, like a poem, finely penned, Speaks of beginnings, and of ends.
Auden, with his keen and thoughtful eye, Might muse upon the sight with a deep sigh, Seeing in Mercury's brief, daring flight, A metaphor for man's eternal plight.
We, too, traverse the vast, uncaring void, Seeking meaning in the orbits we've employed, Our lives, like Mercury's, are small and brief, Against the backdrop of belief and disbelief.
Yet, in this cosmic dance, there's beauty found, In the silent spaces, between the sound, The transit of Mercury, a sign, That even in the dark, the stars align.
So let us, like Auden, take our place, With humility, and with grace, To ponder on our role in time and space, As we watch Mercury's fleeting trace.
And when the transit's over, and Mercury's gone, The memory of its passage lingers on, A reminder of our place in the vast unknown, A call to seek the light, and make it known.