STAR STRESS

We swim the onyx endless canopy of eve
wondering if silvery serpents wait to strike,
burdened in our evolving epiphanies
civilization's cumbersome expanding manufactured metaphors
lumbering as toxic paranoia Goliaths
creating foreboding phantom dazzles
within the spectrum of possibility's gaze.

A thousand tomes terrorize in tormenting speculation
will Chicken Little Prophets
truly crown sunrise
in an I told you epitaph?

By each breath and beat
there is a miracle,
fleeting and vaporous in security.

Shall some streaking asteroid
write a cosmic final act
to life's play on Mother Earth?

Chance is a cruel prankster
when seen through eyes without a soul,
but for the one sensing and trusting in a divine hand
that manipulates celestial spheres like marbles,
comet apocalypses is not a fickle tale of fated doom.
Instead mankind's history's story which he wrote
before time began.