Goddess Einstein

Some of us have such expansive souls,

the edge of which — reaching — takes a lifetime.

Our minds, much like a star born from a nebula,

imploding, bend the fabric of time.

And I have just begun,

yet have all the words to explain —

but it is your ear, untrained

for the cosmic music that is my mind.

And what do I have to gain in teaching you,

except a waste of my finite time

and this human pain?

Besides, not everything colossal must be displayed —

kept safe in a museum

until the end of time.

For some of them are people,

allowed the grace to wither,

allowed an erasure —that silence divine.

For I don’t yet know on this path

what it is that I shall find.

But this much I have surmised:

it is silence one would seek

after this exhaustive journey

across the fabric of time.

So I shall leave you

a shell of my presence —

myself a giant onyx observer

containing worlds in itself

to deduce your feeble notions from outside.

For some of us have expansive souls,

the depths of which cannot be observed

through your mortal, finite eyes.