The Ballads of Gravity

I ought to have maintained my anonymity until the denouement, for it is there that our prospects would have thrived most auspiciously upon the uncharted horizon of the unknown.  The mere possibility of your transformation into the conjured metabolism of pataphysical existence weighed heavily upon my heart and mind as never before. I unwittingly ensnared myself in the role of a semi-demi doppelganger of Ulysses, thus sowing the seeds of my life's sabotage. I would occasionally catch fleeting glimpses of grace in the glimmer of a wondrous, age-old ruin of impeccable provenance. Through the enchantment of that ancient relic, I sustained the illusion of your presence with a kind of marvelous grace.  Yet, as I struggled to regain my aesthetic maneuverability, I found myself compelled to make a sacrificial offering of your memory upon the altar of the immutable cosmological constants.  I carry you with me to my tomb, and perhaps even beyond, for you persist within me, omnipresent in

I've undergone a transformation beyond my wildest imaginings.  There comes a point in everyone's life where letting go becomes a necessity for forward movement. Losing something seems inherent to gaining something else—some do it by choice, while time enforces it on others.  In my case, the catalyst was the cat's curiosity. Though time played its part, comprehending and visualizing the entirety of my 'glorious past' remains a struggle. While I acknowledge its irretrievability, I occasionally entertain fantastical notions of time reversal in the quantum realm. There's solace in sipping coffee on the beach, the waves' soothing cadence offering a picturesque recapitulation of time, patterns in space, and gravity's pained dance. That marked the end of one era and the commencement of another. Ruth, the ROOH, my muse and the architect of my existence—credit for all that I became and everything I did not, goes to her timeline interwoven with mine. She sculpted

I found myself on a trail, seeking the vestiges of stardust's lingering memories. Perhaps, my curiosity was drawn to the pain it once bore in the crucible of gravity. They say fortune smiles when your star aligns with you. Intrigued by this celestial promise, I would pray and tilt my head skyward, gazing at the descent of stars, yearning for one to cross my path. Testing destiny's hand with each falling star became a ritual for me.  It was a shepherd boy who revealed me the tale of a rare falling star—a crimson diamond giant. He spoke of an unprecedented sight in his nocturnal wanderings, beneath the suspended lanterns of the sky. As a child, I marveled at the expansive night sky from the sturdy shoulders of my father. Now, no longer that inquisitive child, I gaze back, contemplating the innocence I once held.  Time flowed like a nocturnal train through the shadowy woods, and I matured.  I was a young poet desperately trying to take off from the gravity of my existence. I know