To the core

The planet goes on spinning, revolving, soaring into nothingness. As it soars, a gentle, unrelenting pull draws it in. But the velocity of it travelling into nothingness keeps it at a constant distance from this pull.
The planet keeps on turning.

The planet, populated, peaceful, luscious and fruitful, keeps on going. The population, plodding through the daily necessity of chores. The business of survival. The business of living.
The planet keeps on turning.

However the population once was years ago, now it faces a whole new experience. One that it has never seen before. One that they cannot understand. Entirely new. It now faces the unreasonable lack of light. What once was bright, is now engulfed in darkness. The false imitations of light glitter from its surface, draining its life source that would never last the eternity they need to.
The planet keeps on turning.

The populations seems to understand, however, that the planet is kept in course. How, they do not know. But they know that the big ball of bright light that stood in the sky so many ages ago (for time cannot now be kept) no longer exists and has left them.
The planet keeps on turning.

What used to be warm, fertile soil, is now caked in frozen mass. There is no cold - only the absence of heat. And this absence penetrates to the very core of the planet. Slowly, the magma churning begins to chill, slowing its movements and imploding the planet from the inside. The gasses, the minerals that use to nurture the crust, now long gone. Harbored away into nothingness.
The planet keeps on turning.

All of what population knew, is gone. Gone, is the chance to turn the soil. Gone, is the chance reap the harvests of old, the cornucopias of luxury. Now, they eat artificially flavored, artificially heated food. Tasting nothing, but yet surviving.
The planet keeps on turning.

This center, this pull, is filled with nothing. And inside this nothingness, is filled with imaginations, desires, dreams, meteors, planets and other stars. Inside this depth, is all that is considered good and well. But its euphoria for devouring is never satisfied. It gorges, as if there is no tomorrow. Because there isn't tomorrow.
The planet keeps on turning.

This absence of being, emptiness, vacuum; it must have some meaning. But the population cannot understand what it is - only that it is the replacement of what was glorious, warm and bright. They cannot solve it, nor find a way to come to terms with it. They just keep surviving.
And the planet keeps on slowly turning.