The title is the extent that my Latin knowledge goes... but anyway, I want you to tell me what this is really all about.
PER ASPERA, AD ASTRA.
in the space of those untold-thousand terminal
heartbeats silent; the treetop sunbeams gliding
some forest thaw in spring where he was static
bled like ruin and heather in the cloudshperes
she danced not far, and whether or not she felt
the dynamic of weathered-storm skyshallow, yet
untired he moved to make not a sound and thus
was fashioned the beginning of an end
sometime in the past, wherewith all things were
one, it seemed like it would only be forever from
there on in (and upon reflection he succeeded in
little but a pained sense of tragedy over time)
that the air was seething with the instabilities of
all quantum spacetime, there was no doubt, she
could not help but observe the irregular edge of
the new-fallen night stars
and he pocketed the least of these, that she may
never know, understood to be the finest jewels in
his creation, understood to lie not far from a solid
white-hot mass of emotive supercore
he forged a world of pearled unicorns and delicate
dragonwing scales, a shining sea to cross by ship,
a forest of sad illusions, a vast sky of ink black and
a star for each "i love you" never spoken out loud
in transmission, much was lost of these things
a parched tale for weary hearts, suddenly forgiven
and disparate. the unearthly dying of tissue never
much to prevent the unavoidable separation of..
look up to the stars; curious and estranged - he is
there, even as we oft accept things seen only with
our eyes. thus either faith or science, to accept the
inevitable drifting of bodies through the empty.
could he be numb to the bite of space, as now the
world has fallen away? as there are naught here
but rapid meteorites and space-channel static, she
is (again) nowhere to be seen this side of the sun
he in the quiet warmth of memory fragmentation
a frail presence, once essential as food or water
she stands in the stain of blood-on-grass, where
once long ago he loved, yet loved not.
but ghost-lights in the towers dimly shone as the
sun went down on ivory hill, and from the farthest
of horizons she came on an errand of the winds,
sun-stained, she; formless and void
grounded (somewhat) to the metal earth he was,
and in that void found he such a home where (for
fear of soon forgotten) placed within such as he
could from what remained of his heart-strewn
sad, then, she woke from the supercoil sunrise,
he, embedded in the polar current, then spoke
again of love, and not the ebb and flow of time
as was the custom in those days
while she moved on to other worlds, somewhat
causing a vast distance to emerge in-between,
he chained himself to the tree of life, and there
remained (held fast, as it were) until finally
scores of life-spans later, fissures in the earth's
fragile crust caused his departure: at the edge
of a dying world, he fell through into space and
tasted the sweet of a collapsing magnetic field
to stay above, to look down from high orbit on
some forest thaw in spring where he was static
bled like ruin and heather in the cloudshperes,
and shell-shocked, he, never to know the "why"
in deep untired, and makes he not yet a sound
drifting space-gloves undying and helmet shine
while left to navigate the final resting places of
every splintered thought and broken heart
for want, for the thousand things one would die
for, and the one thing for which to live. and write
like there will be no tomorrows, a parallel to life
itself, she might have said: per aspera, ad astra.
