What are we, if not, motes of dust
Floating in the universe
Clutching to the crust?
Or is there something more
Than meets the eye?
Is something gazing back
When I look up at the sky?
I do like to believe
That I am more than just my mind.
I am how the stars
Get to be awestruck by the night,
I am how the flowers
Smell the winter and the spring,
I am how the butterflies
see the colours of their wings.
What are we, if not, motes of dust
Coming together in the universe
To eventually rust.
Maybe, we're not so different, from what we materialize,
The universe yearned to see itself,
And gave us eyes.
Nov 17, 2024
Nov 17, 2024 at 5:29 AM UTC
What are we, if not, motes of dust
Floating in the universe
Clutching to the crust?
Or is there something more
Than meets the eye?
Is something gazing back
When I look up at the sky?
I do like to believe
That I am more than just my mind.
I am how the stars
Get to be awestruck by the night,
I am how the flowers
Smell the winter and the spring,
I am how the butterflies
see the colours of their wings.
What are we, if not, motes of dust
Coming together in the universe
To eventually rust.
Maybe, we're not so different, from what we materialize,
The universe yearned to see itself,
And gave us eyes.
The rare occasion of a happy poem, no matter how generic. :)
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