Space Rock (Found Poem) - SCP Foundation

That lizard is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen.

Space Rock (Found Poem)

By: FLOORBOARDS

Published on 03 Oct 2022 01:24

Lost star, far away

Almost remembered, our secret place

Fragments of a falling heart

A lost star in the porous dark

Lost star, far from home

Lost star, she roams the stone

Lost star, on its own,

Lost star—

Lost star—

Scorned, afraid, a corner wan

Struck and divvied upon

The cusp of something gone

Lost star, the only one

Lost star, nearing grey

Lost star, you are falling

Lost star, above the highway

Lost star, are you calling?

Higher worlds, higher borne

Brighter nights and colors worn

Lost star, shining into day

Once forgotten, but here to stay

But

When it landed

It left a crater

The size of Maat Mons

He watched it

Thrash about and cry

Then remembered old psalms

"Star Whale,"

He said softly,

Approaching its body,

"Be still, be calmed,"

And he took it in his arms

From the crater

And to the diner

To be embalmed

Greasy

Greasy

Greasy

It mauls the meat, tearing bread and lettuce with its canines; tomato juice drips from the sides of its hands and onto the wrapping paper.

"Easy, easy, easy there," says its new friend in amusement, sliding down into the seat across from it. He dabs the salt from the wounds in the corners of his mouth, an eyebrow raised as if in question. It croons animalistically in response.

Gulping down the last of its meal, it slaps the napkin between its hands until it considers itself clean — the two sit in silence, and their eyes meet.

It speaks:

Two figures stand apart

Twins, or lovers, or whatever—

They are made of the same stardust

She chooses an hour they were not so far

But their time together is severed

It's something like watching comets combust

If moments could be separated physically

And you could walk into the past at any point

Would you sneak into the back rooms of your own eternity

And find yourself, or anyone you wanted,

Unspoilt?

Different beings occupy the same sphere

One is made of dust, the other is light

The columns of creation spread forward

"I want a new world," said the light, and it departed there

"But I'll miss your warmth," said the dust, facing towards night

The volume increases upward

If the maze of time unraveled before you

And the centerfold, laid bare, could be climbed within

Would you enter there too?

Or would you stay alone, above, without?

Their lives, then

Could be inferred as this:

A series of long divisions,

When there was Her, and there was It

It stood atop a golden chair

It wore chains and smelt of burnt hair

As harmless as it was,

It looked far larger in the waxing sun

She sat upon a cold and lonely pyre

Her eyes were tired and so was her smile

As late as it was to save face,

She looked forward to the coming days

In the mirror, they look to each other

And shake hands, then exchange places

To her chagrin, but to its druther

Between twin scars, it takes spades to see aces

Their lives could be inferred as this:

Two lost stars

Found in dreams, lost in mist

« Previous: The Last Things Dr. Darryl Loyd Did | HUB | Next: T-98816-OC108/682/023 »

Author's Note

Hide Author's Note

It's October 2nd, 2022, so that means it's time to exclusively listen to Duster for my bad feelings. The weather has almost always affected my mood; even though I love Autumn and the passage into Winter, it always fills me with sadness. That sucks, because these times of year are so beautiful.

I like to think I've gotten better at managing my mood. I catch myself being very mean to the people I love sometimes, and I try to step back and deescalate if I can. I never used to do that, so I think it's a sign of maturity.

This poem is vaguely about that. Choosing to be kind in the face of adversity.

I got inspiration for this poem way way early in my time on this site, while I was running from the weather to the coast. This and The Locked Box were going to be part of the same poetic epic; a tale about Veronica Fitzroy from childhood to where we meet her in The Trashfire.

The full tale was… really bad and overly complicated. Before I knew I had OSDD, I also tried saddling Veronica with SCP-682's lore, presenting 682 (who used it/its) as an alternate personality she used when stressed, or when dealing with overtly supernatural circumstances.

I'm glad I cut the epic into these two pages. They're both far more effective that way. I guess if you wanted to look at this as an in-universe story, it's Veronica writing a ballad about 682 — maybe they're kindred spirits, representing the same response to trauma and abuse but in different ways.

But what if the world was kinder to them when they first arrived? What if the world was kinder to all of us? Even when the weather is effecting my head, I try to be kind. I think we all deserve that. Treat each other kindly, please. ~Shuck & Roxy