O dust! you settle down naturally on any exposed surface over a period of time it seems without much of a purpose other than to indicate that some time has obviously passed as before there on we observed a brighter sheen was cast.
You also seem to appear and come down out of nowhere because of the fact that you're an insignificantly small fare nobody around suspects the character of your real nature or questions how and why you are made; of what stature.
People will say that you are of certain air-borne particles which are picked up and carried around like some articles and deposited where fate has destined them to be placed on any exposed surface that their presence has disgraced,
This may be true to a point but isn't an absolute or final answer as you are so fine and small it begs one to delve much further; if the atmosphere of the earth supports all life as we know it then it too must be a living thing and the dust just proves it.
Particularly in respect of each living thing producing its own waste the atmosphere itself being so pervasive can't be dismissed in haste because it too would have to live and feed on whatever sustains it and leave behind most of the dust as excreta as a justification of it.
The question one could ask next is what would the atmosphere live on? and the answer might just be whatever is available such as energy from the sun, stars and space itself which are all parts of the cosmic sea above along with the earth and its oceans that it envelopes as a protective glove.
However it is noted that no dust settles on an exposed surface in a vacuum because there's no atmosphere apparently there we would have to presume hence all of space itself isn't some kind of great vacuum but a living entity we've come to call the Universe being the body of God the Eternal Verity. _________
Quietly justifying The existence of the other The lines of his jaw The turn of her hair But not in hand For its beneath the surface Of the conscious mind That the search began And there it will end There it will end
Just beneath the surface things. Next to the shadow, just to the right.
Idly stationed in the bucolic hills, sits a stone well; unknown when abandoned. Though her people foregone, water yet fills as much as you can want for. In tandem, are high trees less old than she; occluding the view from pathless and naive strangers. As their wish in well is to keep obtuse, those that siren would otherwise capture. Her drink, one thinks they'll constantly receive. In reality, they'll only be taken. Youth will fade as the heart minutely bleeds. Their hollow, dried corpse will be forsaken. And though her hole but a tall dark crevice, I see my reflection on the surface.
Swimming in my own delusions, I gasped, searching for breath as I reached the surface again, and the bitterly cold air of reality filled my lungs and pulled me away from the dazing daydreams that nearly drowned me
standing on a cliff's edge, the pink ocean draws me closer, i braced for the fall, floating on air, falling effortlessly, i prepare for the impact, i touch the surface immediately, and the unforgiving frigid water ***** me in, i sink, deep into the bottom, feeling the embrace of the ocean.
White sneakers and t-shirts With the dumbest prints An Hawaii shirt on occasion Joyful tales; a fool I make So broken it looks like art This high life is my lie life Pink skin (but veins so black) Like sugar so sweet This ****** blues.