Sagittarius
Looses his arrow which must
Only fly halfway
Because in his sights
Is infinity itself,
The greatest of beasts.
Did the arrow stop?
Or get stretched into a whip?
Squeezed past a Planck's Length?
We will never know.
But the singularity
Can never be slain.
Strange and beautiful,
They inherit the cosmos
At the end of time.
But through fiction's eyes,
They're hungry purple vacuums
Shouting "Please hit me!"
Then that arrow
Spears some unfortunate sap
In the mirror world.
Perhaps they'll be shown
More true to their real selves past
Two thousand nineteen.
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