The Gods, they envy us.
We get to live and be done with it:
We get to die and leave.
There is no eternity hanging over our heads,
No forevers to roll the dice over.
We will not become Fallen Angels
Even if we forget our own morality.
We get to leave into the nothingness,
Become one with the Earth,
Get trodden in the very soil
We claimed as Ours once before and then
Turned to dust in.
We become the dust;
The dust that is to us
The same as we are to the cosmos;
We are the nothing.
Galaxies erupt and entire worlds are created,
Stars explode and black holes collide,
So why does it matter that I fell from the stairs today;
Why does it matter that I stuttered in a conversation
Or that I yelled out the wrong answer in class?
The cosmos are to us
As the Earth is to the dust specs on it;
We will be blown away and it will all still be here:
The Galaxies; the Earth within one such,
Packed with an entire Solar System,
Turning around one Sun,
They will still continue being//
In one form or another.
So why does it matter
That I will not be here
When all has been said and done,
I’d still have existed.
anikaness 