Destiny's Way

If I were a ponderous purple onion, you could peel to my core, finding nothing new or more, nothing terrible, nor wondrous. 

If I were a child's wooden train, I'd turn back around sixty years again, remembering it from the smoke and sounds it never made. 

If I were a darkened alley past midnight, staying out of helicopter light, no shadows to trust beyond those that move too fast. 

Somehow our sun keeps its secrets burning on, while trillions of black holes draw in the churning dust from every ancient universe.

The background glow still seen, tracking each of us from within, no one may know their destiny's way, nor that fateful final day.

When, out goes the light in a rude bum's rush, a moment then gone, stars colluding in their solitude, nothing personal, all along.