Centrifugal

Steadfast outcast, I am fast 
in my inertia from womb to grave. 
Pseudo force, here is gravity without a cause. 
Outward, outward, out— 
am I ever-flung outward-bound 
to outer dark? Solo solace, 
when death claims me will it be as the snake 
  who no longer claims its own shed skin 
to live again? Yet I have envisioned 
One so vast He is unending universe 
and does not sorrow in cold orbits of traverse.

Centripetal

God’s cold orbits of traverse 
fix rotating route: I cannot flee, 
I am not free in fleeing to free my soul from Him. 
Inward, inward, in— 
I am spiraling to a center’s core, 
God draws me in.  Of all waters, 
all beings, He’s the wellspring. 
He holds me fast, wheel to linchpin. 
Out of some whirlwind into some whirlpool, 
I am as one bone 
in some great winged breastbone.