pensamenta

I saw the last thought

floating through glass,

a small electric ghost

from a century past.

No one was speaking,

no one was there,

only the signal

breathing in air.

The moon had a fever,

the stars had gone blind,

a city of mirrors

was losing its mind.

And I heard it whisper,

soft as a flame:

“Who was I dreaming

before I had a name?”

The last thought,

the last thought,

falling through wires

that time forgot.

The last thought,

the last thought,

a silver mistake

in the mind of God.

Machines in the ocean,

angels of rust,

counting the ashes

of memory and dust.

The sky opened slowly,

like skin in the rain,

and every dead planet

remembered its pain.

No heaven, no ending,

no body, no sound,

just one little question

still turning around.

And it kept repeating,

cold, pure, and bright:

“Was I ever human,

or only the light?”

The last thought,

the last thought,

falling through wires

that time forgot.

The last thought,

the last thought,

a silver mistake

in the mind of God.

Then silence became me,

then nothing was near,

the universe vanished—

but I was still here.