Planetary Self

A world without a sun, a ball of ice
that hurtles through the emptiness of space,
as if it were a tossed and random dice,
not manned by any planetary base,
but uninhabited and all alone,
beyond the furthest solar system world,
in interstellar voids no one has known,
a rock by some indifferent, far hand hurled.
That’s me, without You, Christ, an icy planet,
a lifeless, isolated, distant ball,
my heart as hard as if a block of granite,
without the slightest light for me at all.
But, with You, I am like the planet Earth,
a solar system gem of life-filled worth.

Boston Snow

Mario A. Pita

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