I danced in this great and ancient forest that

have had grown over the course of centuries- leaving half

eaten morsels of it’s decaying ancestors to revisit later.

The forest is fearless and unforgiving. As I reach deeper into it’s center,

plums packed away for lunch are forgotten in a small tin container.


That is the curse of nature’s strange beauty. Things that

were planned and placed away for later, scheduled and cataloged

in preparation for a future time are deemed useless and eventually forgotten in

the same way nature fades everything to dust, decay. Our little

icebox, so new and perfect, will you miss it when it collects dust

and grime- dirt from outside. The forest:

which of these ancient trees will survive me?


You are but a second to nature,

where foliage and weather overtake the greatest of skyscrapers, and

probably much less than a thousandth of a second to the celestial bodies:

saving time on their clock across the millennia.

From birth to death the universe, our small joyful things like

breakfast and plums make our faint and fading mark on it.


Forgive me for this somber retelling of the story you and

me have been reciting since emerging from the womb. Babies:

they dream of stars and trees and lifetimes

were time will erode them to nothingness. So I will take this moment and enjoy these

delicious plums. Life does not offer any more permanent of joy then that

so sweet against my tongue. So so

sweet against my tongue and just as fading

and impermanent as me.

So short a life for each of us before fading into the

cold, but when my body turns to dust, may it reform into a star. 

This poem is about: 
Our world


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