Boy (ii)
and this boy,
this boy that was just a boy, a sailor, an astronomer,
told meit was dangerous to call a human
more than just a human,and he told me
that we are simply all
scarred, bent humans,
with fragile souls,
broken hearts and broken bones.and he said
when we end, we burst
like a bomb with shrapnel,
covering the ground with scars,
harming the world around us
like from the beginning.and when he mentioned the end,
i froze, because i was very much
afraid of the end,
of the dark oblivion
following our supergiant explosion,
of the dark hole,
sucking sorrow from everyone.
and he saidthere is something beautiful
when we are described in
the name of science.
we are ninety-three percent stardust,
ninety-three percent heavenly material,
ninety-three percent of the atoms and
molecules and things that make up the
world around us,
the planets that revolve around the sun,
the sun itself,
the stars and galaxies beyond
our limited vision.
ninety-three percent of that.
just imagine our bones and our souls
glowing with that plasma.
and if you think about it,
the universe
is embedded
in your very core,
all of the stars in a bone,
and no,
it is never really the
end.and i said, you really are something,
sailor boy, star-gazer boy.
how could you say anything less?and he said, how could we be
anything more?
my bones crack with the weight
of all the lives I could be living.and i said
you could always be more.
if you tried,
you could tear the galaxies down
with your hands.
you've got the moon balanced
on your head and
the sun in your eyes
and the stars in your skin
and you are more,
you can be more.and i guess, inside,
he was a boy that was still just a boy, a sailor, and an astronomer just the same, searching for something more.
and he will forever be something my
mind will never comprehend,
like the vast universe,and one day, we will be more
than stardust, more than bones
and dust and ashes and
one day we will truly be stars.and right now, we stardust
are all the same.
YOU ARE READING
watercolor thoughts [completed]
Poesíapoetry by a painter who now paints her art in words "we tread too loudly, too violently on our earth. we smear our dark, ugly night all over the canvas and call it art." #80 in poetry [12/22/16] | © 2016 lookforthatlight