Strands in Space

I've been thinking about this one for a long time...well, there was a big space of time in which I didn't, but with my sister's 22nd birthday around the corner, I decided to finish it. In this poem, I am foreshadowing when we are both of old age and on the last leg of our lives, and we are both saying goodbye to each other for the last time (let the "awwww"s commence). So, here it is...

It was that wide screen sort of moment,
where the night sky stretched like navy blue silk
and the stars bedazzled through the atmosphere,
the perfect scene to begin the end.

With leather hands upon wooden handles,
the tense preparation rocked to and fro,
and each sibling knew they needed to state their vows
before there were no hands, big or small, to follow.

Like she had all the decades of her life,
the sister sprinted head-first through the pack
and began the ceremonial encounter,
tears already rimming the outlines the eyes.

"My warrior growl would have simply dwindled,
my loving strength would have never surfaced,
were it not for the development
of my watchful eye towards you.

I give you a thanks that spans across galaxies
for making me realize that the woman running in this heart
could delve much deeper than her surroundings,
and form a bond that gives much too pride for one lifetime."

With a breathless exhale tinged in red excitement,
the brother nearly jumped from his rocker,
more than ready to begin his greatest wordplay
and make them both depart with a bang.

"I don't know how my life span would have thrived
if you had not looked me straight in the eyes
and made me realize that layers are nothing
but barriers for the tangled lands of your cock-eyed innocence.

You were not just a pillar of strength;
you were a carrier who made the human spirit contagious.
If they could not quiet you as a mortal,
Lord knows how they'll try in Heaven."

So each said their piece,
and with the peaceful fog
clouding both of their minds,
they realized it was time.

It was a quiet disintegration,
with each participant smiling, eyes slowly closing,
freeing themselves from their bodies like stardust
towards their own constellation in the sky.

Nothing Is Nothing

Without the love of poetry,
were it not for the words ricocheting
from the nests in my soul
to the white paper sky,
nothing happens.

Absolutely nothing.

No planets will crash in the middle of space.
No ocean will swallow a village of saints.
Children will not start falling like dominoes
in a center for terminal illness.

Nothing will happen.
Absolutely nothing.

Earth that once flourished would now turn to stone.
Dust would be born from the stars that once shone.
All homes would be painted the same drab gray,
reeking worthlessly of tension and words unsaid.

All because of nothing.
Absolutely nothing,
which is not death itself,
but might as well be the nickname,
as he who does nothingis nothing,
and I might as well fill the air
I so constantly breathe.