A far off whisper
from the distant universe.
It challenges you to fight.
Because the world is wide
and microscopic,
minuscule insignificance’s
the streams of dust
falling from outer space,
settling around us,
teasing of other worlds.

Where love is a hollow middle
give me the stars,
their compact atoms
made up of everything.
Hands on the street reach
for the fingers of one,
and their ill drawn faces
drop when there is no one.
Desperate crying, and tremendous
nets of words that say so little.
Our droplet lives,

they shrink into a solitary speck,
small enough to land upon an eyelash
and cause no flutter,
they disintegrate
into a pitiful exaggeration
of pointlessness.
And while our time will be retold
in empty stories,
the suns and planets beyond
will still whisper their endless odysseys, full
of the light from the beginning of time.


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