They spin on evermore,
Never slowing, never ceasing.
Strict path for each and every,
A spider’s web, always increasing.
Large and small they follow orbit,
Standing bright against the dark.
Every planet on a schedule,
Waiting for the special spark.

And there it is—a shooting star,
A nerve impulse within the soul.
The planets gasp and press on faster,
Thus is born a new black hole.
Like protons, part of something larger,
The planets cloud around the sun.
The ball of fire, a nucleus perhaps?
The questioning has just begun.

The system expands imagination,
Yet, could it be so small?
An atom of another world,
This science will enthrall.
We see ourselves as knowing all,
But what else have we missed?
The confusion of the orbits yet
Have never seen this twist.

They loom above, ever twirling,
Not to have the power.
But rather just as something small,
Amongst a meteor shower.
Perhaps our planets are not large,
And we are but mere dust.
The circle of life continues on,
We’ve only grazed the crust.

But then to admire one small part,
Of the world we see so large.
And think each atom is not small,
But its own, separate charge.
With further planets and webs of orbits,
Another cosmos fuss,
With beings down amongst the dark,
Staring up at us.