fleeting, confused
specks of dusts, furthering the stories
of dusts long past
giving names to fickly forms of masses
reaching out to skies undoubtedly
unreachable

We are stories from a
bygone era that will be forgotten one day
And we’ll reach mortality, try as we may
ever expanding, ever exploding
‘til the last word has been said
‘til the last thought has been made

We are all the pieces
and yet we are none
We unravel the mysteries
we’ve created for ourselves
Yet the greatest mystery of all
one we have yet to understand
transcends the dusts,
the stories,
and the pieces
because we have made it so

We truly are small.