Horrorscopes; Cosmic Events in a Violent World and the Theory of Relativity as it Pertains to the Trump Era

On nights when the news finds a way to slip into the bedroom
and casts shadows on the wall that bury bookshelves into darkness,
I think instead of the people whose hearts burn through their chests 
and envelope the world with a kind fury.
On these nights, when I can not sleep, I look to the sky overflowing with stars,
brighter as they fall and demanding the world to see.
They fizzle against the backdrop of our home, silently,
until the world is awash with rays and drowned out in pink.
These days, I won't look away.

I'll be watching when the moon eclipses the sun;
I'll be watching when the world grows dark and daylight's extinguished;
​I'll be watching when it feels as though the power's gone out.

These moments are deafening.
They reverberate with a weight undeserving of seconds,
with the gravity of a bomb and the fear to match.
To blink is to miss it, for those not looking,
but those who see are swallowed by it.

Until it's over.

Then, just like that, the light returns.
With a fervour that rushes to fill every inch with energy,
sending shadows scurrying for cover and squeezing darkness into corners.
And I can't fathom why I thought the darkness would take us,
why those seconds in time that didn't even allow for the stars to shine seemed to last forever.
why we observed so intensely in the day but not in the night.
But I can't dwell on what was not seen.

Even in the night, with the radio on,
I know good things to be true.
And I have to know that if I choose to be enveloped in emptiness,
eventually I'll see the lights, if I just open my eyes.