A Sermon in the Words of Galaxies Long Since Disassembled
Let our bodies have mass
like the intellectual things we
think we think, but we know
we don't know and we really don't
say
out
loud.
Let us absolve the sins
of the cells of our skins because
nothing more important happened beneath
the surface than a bad tattoo.
Let the sun supernova
and collapse like the lungs
of a car crash victim collapse
with the last inhale... exhale.
Let us bask in the science
of scientific nonsense.
The arithmetic of
of the aromatic nature of grass
that smells like warm sweet tea
and lightning bugs that whisper
sweet nothings in the heat of night.
Let the day pass by-
a time elapsed scene
where the clouds gather and then
dissipate in the face of the displeased populous
that lives beneath the sky.
Let my paper disintegrate
nothing more than pressed dead skin
of trees older than my oldest sibling.
Let my words run in lines
ink smeared down a page
wet with the ambiguity of my future
drowning in gallons of existential crises
and gasping for air when it breaks the surface.
Let our tension disappear
like that of new lovers
after a first kiss,
and hope it never comes back
to haunt us.
Let our bodies have mass.
We'll exist in a special plane
meant only for us
and someday we'll learn
that we are made of atoms.
That we matter.
--PennyLaneOnAbbeyRoad
