I moved it. Just a touch. A whim.
And so it hurtled through the night,
tore worlds from orbit, stopped to skim
the atmosphere from forest moons
and set a small world's sky aflame,
the light of seven million noons --
the people burned. They cursed my name.
It's far away, or so I'm told.
So we won't see the truth for years,
the worlds grown barren now, and cold,
their painful ends, their sum of fears.
The news will come to us but slow,
the speed of light, to show what's true.
Until then, none will ever know --
but I will know. And so will you.