Poem -
Dust
Dust
on the
gears.
Mechanical
reality.
Wheels
turning.
Gears
churning.
Burning.
Once in
motion
never to
stop.
Baked
into the
equation.
Formula
mixed,
designed,
inexorably
in motion.
Operationally
infinite.
Beyond
human reach,
understanding.
Dust
on the
gears.
Merely
dust
in the
machine.
Human
endeavors
great or
small.
Past.
Present.
Future.
Adrift
on a
mote,
lost in
forever.
Â
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Comments
We live on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam...exactly, I find the whole concept terrifying John. Your words do justice to this fact x
Â
Thanks Marion.
We run around on this mote so impressed with ourselvesÂ
thinking we are the be all end all. When in fact we’re just floating around
on a mote of dust.
This is why I love anything to do with the planets, cosmo.etc. it puts us in perpective but it sure opens up a universe of questions. P.S...I've written a fun one for you...although myself I'm kinda halfway to believing it x