infinitesimal dust

in the infinite space of the world,
dust particles floating through drawn skies
settling on teardrops – pearl drops – clinking
on glass hearts, ripped out and bled
of all color.

temporary is nature, so these glass hearts
that felt and hurt and pained
disappear without a word, dust in the wind
floating away into the void of nothing,
replaced by another –

alone, voices echo for importance and fame;
money absorbs tears temporarily and so it goes,
while sawdust drinks and grows heavier, the burden
a teardrop on the scale of the word,
a hundredth of a kilogram –

macro zooms into micro, and glass hearts become souls
of lost color, blending and fusing and intertwining,
pulsing with life, nothing becomes something,
and so one speck of dust in the world
became the world to one speck of dust

and so the story goes, of souls wandering down paths unknown,
and glass hearts layered with money and sawdust
disappear like specks in the wind – gone –
but, somewhere, a daughter holds her mother’s hand on the bedside,
and cries when breath becomes nothing.

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