A Slowly Dying Star
i.
as i lay here and listen
to the soft jazz playing
over the simple quiet
of my house,
i know.
ii.
what i know is that
i must write,
that if i didn't write
the tumbling words,
the words that come
pouring out of me like
water from the tap,
i would quietly combust and
explode, much like a
dying star.
iii.
i feel my words are
merely water from the tap.
transparent, a little dirty, sometimes
gritty, sometimes makes you
wonder if the government is really
slipping fluoride into it.
it always leaves a
metallic taste in your mouth.
iv.
i wonder at those
dying stars, the way
their light can shine
for light years.
i can only hope
mine does.
Hannah Newcomer was born in Texas and raised in Austin. She eats, sleeps, and breathes poetry. It is her life. She has been published twice. Once in Eber & Wein's "Passport" anthology, and again in the America Library of Poetry's "Accolades" anthology. She hopes to one day touch the hearts and souls of the world with her words.
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