Gravitas of Greatness

Hydrogenium. 

Gravitas. 

Tempus. 

The three ingredients of your birth.

If only then we had known your worth. 

Spinning disk, nebulus.

We watched you twist–

dizzy with anticipation–

awestruck ideation.

The pressure, 

Gravitas of Greatness, 

knowing one day your graveyard would be carved into eternity–

A hole in the Universe as big as your heart.  

You spoke, a shard of light piercing through your center,

witnessed light years away. 

Simmering at a sweltering fifteen million degrees,

all for a new diamond in our eyes, 

filling the skies.

They crowded for a chance, 

prayers for permission to advance

to your orbit, 

some joyous in celebration of acceptance–

Others left as orphans.

But your gravitas knew no bounds–

Long arms, 

magnetic pulls,

all were welcome,

all were fools for that greatness you possessed.

The dance continued–

a careful stabilization of inputs and outputs.  

A mathematical love story. 

In the end the tempus of your duties wore too thin, 

and all the while the orbiters screamed aut vincere aut mori. 

Conquer or die. 

No one would believe you could leave. 

You’d drowned yourself in momentary relief, 

the Gravitas of your Greatness lifting at each drowning, 

each drowning bringing you closer to the End.  

If they stand by and watch you die,

is that what’s called a homicide? 

If they would have fought for you, 

would you still be alive? 

Does their grief for the loss of you feel different from mine, 

who watched from afar and wondered why?

When you burned away,

I imagined your Spirit on the Moon, 

hands clasped tightly around your first silver spoon–

the one you found in the sand when you were six, 

unchained from your Greatness. 

Tempus. 

Gravitas. 

Hydrogenium. 

And all of the dust that remains.

Click here for Poetry Unpacked: On Stars and People and People as Stars for a deeper reflection into this poem.