Crisis

We are like planets
Circling round a fireball, bound
By that inevitable force.
Our footsteps determined, dictated
By that giant gas explosion
Burping great flames
Into the void.

All planets--
No matter their differences--
Are shaped by the same great force.
They journey through space
So distant and yet enthralled
By the dictates of their father.
Planets are ever-loyal children.

(Unlike us humans. Clods of dirt and gas
Must always obey their father.
Not us.)

In a million years, their father
Shall explode, a rotten blister
Spewing flames into space.
The ever-loyal planets
Are burned to ash.

Do they know
That their destruction awaist
Within the heart
Of their progenitor?
How do planets feel about the sun?