We live on our floating planet,
this hunk, this rock,
we are so small.
But we are significant to ourselves.
We hold each other, and give, and whisper,
and reproduce, and teach generations the knowledge we have gathered.
We are highly imperfect, but highly aware.
We are survival, ignorance.
We are contradictions. We are swirling.
The universe produced us from gas and matter,
and we are as thin as matchsticks,
but we have enough brain power and ideas to explore this very same universe.
We are cosmic explorers, discovering truths that dance on the edge of reason.
The milky -way galaxy, or the size of an atom.
Our bodies grow old, get sick, and are weak to pressure,
but we are capable of amazing things.
Dancing as story-telling, painting as communication.
Art as a way of life. Life as a form of art.
Vice-verse, right sides up, and backwards again.
This is us floating in the universe.
This is us on our little green and blue ship.
This is us using our words to unite and inspire.
Our world is significant to us,
but not to the universe. We go about day to day,
unsure of the next day,
but pretending we are.
Take the dog to the vet. Make a salad for the picnic.
Order some pizza for the patty.
Outside of us, the universe is exploding,
and we arc dancing on pivotal stars.
Life may seem mundane sometimes,
but everyday, life is formed. Life is taken away.
There are deaths, births, and stars exploding, one into the other,
Millions of degrees,
we are the same exploding change.
We are friendships bleeding, shooting stars, violent intermissions,
and we are dire life. We are the greatest need,
the need to move, to express, and to exist.
We are dancers circling in the cosmos.
Because what else would we be?