universe

Callum Featherstone

Don’t, just, be a star. Become a galaxy.

I’m often, mentally, brought to my knees, with melancholy, when I think, of, the utter callousness, of, the human species.

My cerebellum’s, figurative, grey, grazed patellae are; a metaphor, which compound the pleading, within my mind, for mankind to stop, and, think.

Think about our selfish, greedy, unflinching nature.

Think about our incredible lack of foresight. Foresight, for not only our fellow genus, but, the wider amalgam, of; wildlife, biodiversity, planetary ecology, and, ultimately, our world, and, universe.

Our arrogance, and, sense of self, have become, our own baited, foolish, avaricious universes.
Solitary, loathsome universes, filled with;
galaxies of material wishes,
solar systems of Internet based gratification,
constellations of exploitation,
and, nebulae that beckon fruitless, divisive competition.

All in the hope of ‘getting ahead’ and/or ‘becoming a star’.

Ironically, we are all composed, of; stardust.

And, on that basis, I believe that we should do everything, humanly possible, to create our own; galaxy of justice – here on Earth.

A galaxy, where, instead of compete for monetary wealth, (a practice which has long seen; each, and, every genius star, capable of contributing any egalitarian offering to humanity – “miraculously” being snuffed out by the establishment e.g. Nikolai Tesla etc.) we, lift one another up, amasse, and, unite – within our; ninety-nine-percent nebula.

By eradicating, the elitist; Black Hole, we, together; can create real, monumental change. The kind of change, which will, echo, throughout; the generations, heavens, realms, and, multiverses.

Whilst standing idly by, the so-called ‘elites’ will continue to;
imbibe our misery,
bathe in our systematic poverty,
mop up any hope of our revolution,
and, spew propaganda, via every form of media, to poison the minds of; every generation, it has the manical pleasure of tainting.

The time is now to; expand our minds, gravitate to one another’s plight, and, escape, revolt, and destroy; the elitist Black Hole, which delights in our unchained servitude.

Don’t, just, be a star. Become a galaxy.

Callum Featherstone

The purest vengeance of all

To triumph over adversity, is to know, the purest vengeance of all. For, those who doubted, ridiculed, disbelieved, gossiped about and wronged you, are forced to realise, that:
they were wrong.
Nothing needs to be said, nor, interaction had. Yet, there is; a secret, smiling jocund, a humble, solemn joy, a discreet, soulful jubilance = in knowing that; the universal scales are, once more, balanced, and, true justice is restored.

Callum Featherstone

Step into the Light

To stand. In the shadows.
Of greater men
-talities;
opaquely.
Unbeknownst of the burden.
Carried; within a silhouette;
of gleaned knowledge.

Dusky, sagely tonnage,
makes cerebra; camel-shaped. Combusting broken, humpy backs.
Ignited; under straw, sewn, skins.
By matchsticks, of sparked duress.

A fire then, lifts, in a burning rage,
courtesy of, camel’s corpse;
showing; Death, is only the beginning; of enlightenment.
And, from; great tribulation, great pain, great loss. Cometh; infinite wisdom.

The miles travelled, within a, fleshed vessel, are;
a measure of;
insignificance…
Within; the Creator’s multiverse.
Just as, the bacterium’s rotating filament is;
unnoticeable, trivial, paltry,
to mankind’s eye.

A soul has no need to walk,
only, to be, an impetus,
for, the light, or, the dark.
A journey to the realms of infinity, beckons.
And, a destination;
unknowingly preordained.
Leaving; an unbeaten path; of universal footprints.

Callum Featherstone

Anti-kaleidoscopic

A constant fight; betwixt dark and light.

Ideas spark and linger.

Music, symphonies, singers.

Memories; dance, then, dissolve

into solutions, some warm and some cold,

creating a tepid potion,

a tumultuous, sloshing ocean,

of notions that decant and, then, go.

An absence of colour is met

with residual grief and regret,

a brick-less prison built upon debt.

Indebted solely to hope; within my mind’s anti-kaleidoscope.

An always unfair fight; betwixt dark and light.

The evil, selfish and greedy

extort the ill and the needy.

The powerful grease the wheels

to pedal their sordid deals,

and, colonisers who claim ground,

in Irony’s backyard and playground,

make lies; truth, and, beggared belief; real.

A pauper eating his hat from a clothes line,

pays in melancholy, fined for a lifetime,

while the rich quaff liquid joy, as they fine-dine,

lasso and Tug-the-Poor, without a rope; within society’s anti-kaleidoscope.

An existential fight; betwixt dark and light.

A tired, weary, bleeding planet,

as Satanic drills penetrate the granite.

Currency denoting worth,

and, ideologies of owning water and turf,

meant destruction of sea, air and land;

all bearing imprints of human hands.

Indelible marks that scourge the Earth;

soured, painful, acidic,

drunken, excessive, paralytic,

consumer, consuming, parasitic.

A plastic species, that especially interlopes; within a worldly anti-kaleidoscope.

An intergalactic fight; betwixt dark and light.

Infinity has a wicked sense of humour,

to implant us; a pitch-black-hearted tumour

in a solar system, in the Milky Way,

and, not a black hole where true darkness plays.

The macabre punchline is yet to come,

when darkness falls on stars and suns,

and, the galaxies that reached and stretched,

are grasped in the longing hands of death.

Waiting infinite time is not long… For some.

When you’ve seen stars burn bright, and, then, collapse,

comets and planets collide and crash,

creation, life and death in one laughing gasp.

There’s no end to an empty, spacious joke; within a universal anti-kaleidoscope.

Callum Featherstone

Cosmonaught

Arrogance of present answers

on past tech and advances,

history’s cerebral romances

laid in the dirt asleep,

by far frog-leaped;

and also out-enhanced us.

Commonplace it justly saddens –

common faces become assassins.

As Julius imbibed Manhattans

the death-toll sparked egregious.

The space in between us

became

chasms;

intercontinental planetary spasms.

It all matters; dark and light.

It all matters; wrong or right.

What’s the matter?

Bhagavad Gita? Quoting chapters?

Nuclear war hindsight…

Science, not before but after;

made sure of atomic plight.

You are birth, life and death;

in a universal breath.

An infinite respirator

expressed;

by heavy traffic – stars and planets.

A cosmos complete yet

bereft.

Callum Featherstone

Sweet Dreams

You are nothing.

You are everything.

You are magic in a box high up on a hill overlooking the universe.

A box which is opened every time that you sleep.

Revelations decoded as the lid is lifted.

Sweet dreams.

Memories casting spells from the spirit-world which transport you throughout space and time.

Future presenting past – transversing as one across existence.

Immortality isn’t hard to imagine when you dream rather than think.

Your flesh will turn to dust and travel on the wings of your essence with reverie as captain.

Flying metaphysically.