Honestly I'm no poet, but today's one of those days where I just really
want to write anything and everything that pops up into my mind.
-
Some days I sit alone and think about the mysteries of life
Of how the world was made to become what it is today
And to think that we are all made of the same things
Yet we are all so drastically different in the way
That we act, speak, think, walk, talk or even live
We are all made of dust; the same as what makes up
The core of the Universe, all of its material
And how is it that such simple beings like us
Have grown to be so complicated? How did we
Create this society out of dust?
What does money do to us? It controls us,
Shapes the way our lives are lived out,
And in one way or another, we are all slaves
To this currency that was fabricated out
Of the very thin air that we breathe
And we are chained to this very concept
That we call time; which is something that does not exist
It is something that we've learned to live by
Limiting our efforts to a day; twenty four hours,
1,440 minutes, 86,400 seconds, half of which
We spend in a comatose state, out for the count
Unable to make use of that time
Running out of reach, like sands falling through my fingers
And it amazes me just how big the Universe is
How we're the only ones so far in this
Dark, wide open space, where the possibilities are endless
And how we may not be the only ones intrigue us
Because if not, how different would they be?
Had the Earth not happened to chance upon the perfect
Conditions for life to be birthed, would I
Be sitting here, writing this? Would I be alive, even?
But alas, I am here, typing away at the keyboard
Of my laptop, writing words that will hold no meaning
After I'm dead and civilization has gone past
And the Earth will return back to where it was
Perfect, undamaged, primeval, back to the times, where
There was only darkness, and nothing else
And in a million years' time, this piece that I've
Just written may never be visible again,
I'm not asking for recognition or anything else at all
I'm just glad that I got to write, in a language that
I understand, appreciate and cannot live without
For everything that I own, breathe, sleep in,
Touch, sit on, use, see, smell, taste, I am beyond thankful
Because I know there are times that I wish I was dead
But I think about the Universe and how small I
Actually am, and that even if I died, nothing in the
Universe would change for the better
And so I live, appreciating what I have
Until it is my time to return to the stars
In the form of dust and bits of the galaxy
That I have come to live in, and learned to love.
