Surreptitiously Superstitious

There are ghosts--
            the ones seen in wine
            and the ones in your eyes
                        reflections of life
            (like the ones we see in gently stirring puddles after rainstorms)

And there are shadows--
            softly echoing time
            slaves to the candles
                        whose light provides life
            (the aura of creation forging the inexpansive umbra of existence)

And there is illusion--
            the convergence of lines
            and purport of movement
                        patterned after life
            (the summation of moments and atoms into the lattice of us)

There are constellations--
            ordered of the sky
            into shapes of our being
                        imitations of life
            (whose nightly shifting goes unremembered in morning light)

And there are dreams--
            the ones where we try
            with subconscious hands
                        to reach for life
            (the risk the waking mind desperately evades for fear of missing)

And there are skeletons--
            of dreams that have died
            collecting dust in closets
                        unrealized
(like the unending stretch of road, rolling forever behind in the rearview)

                        And upon waking,
                                can we keep our eyes shut tight
                                against dispelling morning light?
                        And can the shadow
                                hear the echo of its own plaintive
                                wail, resounding through time?

A 10-fold increase in Earth's gravity.