Speck of Dust

31/08/23

Time can erase
Canyons of anguish

Time can ease
Valleys of sadness

Time can appease
Oceans of loss.

How easily each continent forgot…

The wear and tear,
The erupting crust,
The burning forests.

After all,

Nothing is created
Nothing is lost
Everything is transformed.

From ashes, fuel.
From fuel, fumes.
From pain, wisdom.

Forever spinning around the sun,
Forever greeting the full moon,
Forever clinging to this system.

Forever until time…

Holds still.
Crashes down.
Rises up.

And we are free from this yoke.

Seasons dance away.
Days whirl away.
Waves cower away.

Only to return.

And that thread remains,
Doesn’t it?

And that connection remains,
Doesn’t it?

And those memories remain,
Don’t they?

But what do they mean to you?
But what do they mean to me?

Ask the Grand canyon about
How mighty used to be the Colorado river.

Ask the Appalachians about
How close was the Caledonian range.

As the continents about
How safe Pangea felt.

Ages pass by
Seconds trickle by.
Lifetimes fade by.

And what is left of those times of closeness?

– That illusion –

Scars like ridges, mountains and summits
Dark circles like steep slope edges
Shadows like volcanic ashes

Spreading
Scattering
Fading

Who remembers Tambora’s destruction, anymore?

Other than the mountains,
Other than the oceans
Other than the fossils?

Frozen in time.
Stolen in time.
Beholden in time.

Yet,

We are not set in amber.
We are not buried in ashes.
We are not covered in dirt.

Our limbs are free,
Our foliage is bright,
Our sap is fast.

We are given seasons.

To live,
To mourn
To forget,
To remember.

To live, again.

Renewed
Transformed
Reborn.

But,
What of the past?

Those leftover of supernovas,
Who create new solar systems.

Those ashes of forgotten creatures,
Who feed those ever growing trees.

Those sunken mountains,
Who harbor precious metals.

Weaving the past into the future.
Weaving the future back to the past.

Interwoven
Interlaced  
Interchanged.

What will remain, tell me?

Of those fleeting feelings –
Of those lingering senses –
Of those fading ghosts –

What will be forgotten, tell me?

I see you clearly now.

A speck of dust.
A melacnholy thistle.
A dust of gold.

Nothing much to hold
but enough to speculate.

And yet,
Unforgettable.

Wastelands
Forgotten lands,
Sinking lands.

Let them vanish.

Let a new world rise.
Let a new days rise.
Let a new star rise.

So bright
So warm
So earnest

Blinding us to the past.