Christopher Haywood Poet Narrative

Part II - The Conversation of the Star

Normal: 
Observe that light, three parsecs out, 
A static point in midnight’s air. 
Its flux removes the room for doubt, 
Defines the distance there. 
A fusion core of heat and mass, 
Observed through calibrated glass."

Abnormal: 
But see the leak! 
A silvered wound 
Sutured to a sky of lead. 
By your definition, the truth is pruned, 
Until the living star is dead. 
If light is measured, thin and cold, 
What shapeless things take root and hold?

Normal: 
There are no 'things'—just vacuum's weight, 
And atoms dancing in the freeze. 
To dream of life is to misstate 
The laws of thermal quantities.

Abnormal: 
Perhaps the folk on that far sphere
Are made of rules and rigid bone; 
They count their breaths and live in fear 
Of any light they haven't known. 
To them, your world of grids and charts 
Is the madness that breaks their hearts."

The Normal turned, the lens now blurred, 
By a logic it could not contain. 
"Am I," it breathed, a haunting word, 
"The error in the cosmic chain? 
If they are 'sane' in their frozen height, 
Mapping the dark and fearing the light..."

The Abnormal smiled, a jagged line, 
And watched the star begin to fade. 
"In a universe where the suns don't shine, 
The 'Normal' man is the one afraid. 
I am the native; you are the guest— 
Which of us, then, has failed the test?"

Note: Normality is actually a local phenomenon—a specialized adaptation to a bright, safe world. In the true, vast scale of the universe, the "Abnormal" mind is the only one that truly feels at home.

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